“And as it happens,” said Mr. Copernicus, “I’m going to lose my night–watchman next week, and I think I’ll put Quinlan in. And then I’ve been thinking—there are all poor Tom’s books that he had when he went to Columbia. I’ll let the boy come here and borrow them, and I can keep an eye on him and see how he’s getting along.” “H’m! yes, of course,” the Professor assented hesitatingly, dubious of Mr. Copernicus’s classics. * * * * * “Well, Barney,” Mr. Copernicus hailed his head–porter a month or two later, “how does our new night–watchman do?” “Faith, I’ve seen worse than him,” said Barney. “He’s a willing lad.” Barney’s heart had been won. He came down to the store each morning and found that Quinlan had saved him the trouble of taking off the long sheets of cotton cloth that protected the books on the counters from the dust. * * * * * Every week thereafter, Quinlan presented himself at the basement door, shabby, but no longer collarless, was admitted to the library, by way of the back–stairs, and received from Mrs. Copernicus the books that Mr. Copernicus had set aside for him. But one day Mr. Copernicus forgot the books, and Mrs. Copernicus asked the young man into the parlor to explain to him how it had happened. When she had explained, being a kindly soul, she made a little further conversation, and asked Quinlan some questions about his studies. Greek was Greek indeed to her; but when he spoke of French, she felt as though she had a sort of second–hand acquaintance with the language. “Floretta,” she said to her daughter, “talk to Mr. Quinlan in French, and find out how much he knows.” Floretta blushed. She was a wren–like little thing, with soft brown hair, rather pretty, and yet the sort of girl whom men never notice. To address this male stranger was an agony to her. But she knew that her French had been bought at a fashionable boarding–school, and bought for show, and her mother had a right to demand its exhibition. She asked M. Quinlan how he portrayed himself, and M. Quinlan, with no more expression on his face than a Chinese idol, but with a fluency checked only by his drawl and his stutter, poured forth what sounded to Mrs. Copernicus like a small oration. “What did he say then, Floretta?” she demanded. “He said how grateful he was to Papa for giving him such a chance, and how he wants to be a teacher when he knows enough. And, oh, Mama, he speaks _ever_ so much better than _I_ do.” “Where did you learn to speak so well?” inquired Mrs. Copernicus, incredulously. “I lived for some years in a French house, Ma’am. At least, the lady of the house was French, and she never spoke any thing else.” [Illustration] Beneficence is quick to develop into an insidious habit. When Mr. Copernicus heard this new thing of his prodigy and protegé, a new idea came to him.