Harold smiled a little to himself as he answered: "Yes, I fished
at
Catalina Island last June with the Honorable Ethelbert;
he's rather a decent chap, in spite of his ingrowing mind.
But you?--mother, you are simply magnificent! You are
father's masterpiece." The young man leaned over to kiss her,
and went up to the Riding Club for his afternoon canter in the
Park.

So it came to pass, early in December, that Mrs. Weightman and
her two daughters sailed for Europe, on their serious pleasure
trip,
even as it had been written in the book of Providence; and John
Weightman,
who had made the entry, was left to pass the rest of the winter
with
his son and heir in the brownstone mansion.

They were comfortable enough. The machinery of the massive
establishment
ran as smoothly as a great electric dynamo. They were busy
enough, too.
John Weightman's plans and enterprises were complicated, though
his
principle of action was always simple--to get good value for
every expenditure and effort. The banking-house of which he was
the chief,
the brain, the will, the absolutely controlling hand, was so
admirably
organized that the details of its direction took but little time.