He refers to other papers, the perusal of which is evidently displeasing to him, if one can judge from the expression of his face. He pushes them aside, and leans back in his chair to think. Of what? Of his wife, who has been dead for twenty years. Not with affection does he think of her. But for a living remembrance she left behind her, she might have been to him as one who had never existed. This living remembrance is a child--a son--who, having completed his studies abroad (a phrase peculiarly adapted to fiction), has come home after many years of absence, with no prospects, no profession, and no settled aims or views for the future. Not that this gives the young gentleman the slightest concern. He is as careless a soul as is to be met with here and there, and he can spend a sovereign or a sixpence with equal pleasure. An uncle, who had paid all the expenses of his training and education (upon the express understanding that his nephew was to live away from home), had lately died, and this afternoon had been appointed for the father and son to confer together upon business matters. And upon mention of the subject, here he is. A young gentleman with no trace of seriousness in his manner, with almost laughing face, and with an easy self-possession that it would evidently take a great deal to disconcert; altogether (asking pardon first for the irreverence of the comparison) no more like his father than was Hyperion to a satyr. A bright flower is in his coat. "Good-day, father." Although it is afternoon, it is the first time they have met to-day. "Good-day, Shad----" But before he can get the name out, his son laughingly interrupts him. "Felix, father; Felix, if you love me!" The Rev. Emanuel Creamwell waives the latter proposition, and says in a displeased tone, "I cannot understand your reason for changing your name." "I don't like it, father. It sounds mean. Shadrach!" "It is a Scriptural name," says the Reverend Emanuel Creamwell solemnly. "So is the one I have chosen in its place--Felix. I never could respect a man with the name of Shadrach. Besides," adds Felix, with twinkling eyes, "it is unfair to the firm." "To what firm do you refer?" "Shadrach, Meshach, and Abednego. They should never be parted. You know well enough, father, that you never think of the one but the other two partners pop up, as much as to say, 'Don't forget us, please! We belong to the firm.'" Hard lines come about the thin-lipped mouth of the Reverend Emanuel Creamwell, and he says, with deepening frowns, "The light manner in which you speak of these things is especially displeasing to me, and is entirely out of place in my presence and in this house." "I almost seem to be out of place myself here," says Felix, with the slightest trace of vexation in his manner. "Perhaps so; we will discuss that presently. Whoever lives here must conform to my rules. You were smoking in your bedroom last night." "True, sir." "I do not allow smoking."