“She is a person of European reputation,” suggested Townley. “She is unquestionably proficient in the latest and silliest vices of the aristocracies we came over here to escape from,” retorted John. Townley laughed a little, while Haviland puffed vigorously at his pipe. “I say, Arthur?” said the former, “speaking of Mrs. G., have they asked you to join the Four-in-Hand Club?” “What’s that?” “It’s a club organized for the purpose of driving twice a year up to Yonkers with string teams and liveries, and showing your most esteemed young ladies in flaring light-colored dresses to all the sidewalk population of New York,” broke in Haviland, “and paying four thousand a year for the privilege!” “What rot,” laughed Charlie. “In the first place, it needn’t cost you one thousand a year, for one wheel apiece. Four fellows can own a drag together, you know. And it’s great fun. Mrs. Gower got it up, and all the boys belong. Why, old Mosenthal came to me the other day with tears in his eyes, and offered to keep two full-rigged drags, if we’d only let him come in--and lend me one of ’em, he meant,” added Charlie with a grin. “How cheap for him,” growled the other, “if he could buy the envy and consideration of the society of this great republic for the price of a few horses!” Townley’s good-nature never forsook him; but he looked at Haviland as if puzzled; and the latter rose to go. “I called on the Livingstones last week,” said he to Arthur, “and met your cousin. Good-night, Mr. Townley.” “What a prig he is,” said Charlie, with a sigh of relief when Haviland had gone. “I always supposed it, from his looks. I knew that he refused to join the Four-in-Hand Club; and you hardly ever meet him in society--except at some queer place like the Farnums’ for instance. He mugs down-town at his office all the day, and improves his mind in the evening, I suppose, or reads goody-goody stories to little Italian children, down on Baxter Street! He’s good as gold, you know.” “Don’t you ever mean to work yourself?” asked Arthur. “Not that way,” laughed Charlie. “It’s not in my line. Books and things are played out, I tell you.” But the full account of his plans of life Charlie was too canny to impart, perhaps even to admit to himself. For Charlie had not always been thus. There was a time when he was fresh from Princeton College, and he used to fill his table with English and foreign reviews, and could talk intelligently of their contents. He had begun his business life with enthusiasm, and was only known as a promising athlete outside of it. He showed great industry at the office, and some ability, and had been referred to by his elders as a well-informed young man.