"They use that," replied Benjamin, taking from his pocket nearly five pounds sterling in silver and laying it on the table. "Rather heavier stuff to carry than your Boston paper money." "It looks as if you had struck a silver mine, Ben," remarked one. "Some lucky hit, Ben," said another. "The printing business bring you that?" "No other did. I was a printer when I left, and I am now, and I expect to be in the future. And, what is more, I have no desire for another business." "You sport a watch, I see," said one of the number. "Yes, such as it is; a good companion, though." "Let us see it," one suggested. "You can." And Benjamin passed it to him, and all examined it. "Can't afford such luxuries in Boston," one printer remarked. "It is not a luxury by any means; it is a necessity," replied Benjamin. "I should not know how to get along without a watch now." "Well, Ben, you can afford to have a watch," added one; "for you can live on bread and water, and never want a day of pleasure, and never drink liquors." "And he can afford to treat us all, since he has fared so well," suggested one of the men. "I always did treat you well, and always intend to," was Benjamin's answer, as if he did not understand that treating with intoxicating liquors was meant. "That is so, Ben; but now just treat us with something stronger than water, for old acquaintance' sake." At that time the use of intoxicating liquors was almost universal. Benjamin did not use them, and, once in a while was found a person who did not. Most people were habitual drinkers, and there was little or no opposition to the custom; and the habit of treating was general. "There is a dollar," replied Benjamin, throwing out a dollar in silver. "Take that and drink what you want for old acquaintance' sake." Replacing his watch and money, he left the office with the promise to come around again. While this interview with the men was going on, James would occasionally look up from his work "grim and sullen," as Benjamin said, evidently as unreconciled to his brother as ever. The next day James said to his father and mother, at their house: "It was an insult. He meant to insult me when he came to the office." "No, James," replied his mother; "Benjamin meant no such thing. He told us that he was ready to forgive and forget." "He has a poor way of showing it, then," retorted James, who was too revengeful to be reasonable. "Well, you are brothers," interrupted his father, "and you should act as brothers toward each other. It has a bad look for one brother to be resentful toward another." "And it not only has the _look_" added his mother, "but it is a most wicked state of heart to cherish. You will never prosper, James, so long as you treat your brother so; and you never ought to prosper."