Mr. Elwell was not a bad man at heart; perhaps his worst fault, after his variable temper, was his over-bearing selfishness. He had thought himself hampered by what he termed his incumbrance. But now when he was practically free from this incumbrance, he was angry with himself for what he had done. It was not remorse; he was too selfish to feel that emotion with any poignancy. It was simply that he was throwing away what others might covet; and although he was not willing to endure the irksome restraint of possession, he was almost as unwilling that others should find enjoyment in what he considered his property. Of course, there was some genuine sorrow mixed with this feeling--sorrow for the young wife who mourned his loss. But more for the child, from whom he felt he had cut himself off forever. His love for his offspring was genuine and sincere, and he considered himself greatly injured that circumstances--as he termed it--should forever debar him from showing all his paternal affection. He even made plans for the future, whereby he--unknown to his son--was to be the means of advancing that young gentleman’s prospects in life. But these plans were all for the future, and required no exertion from him in the present, beyond the labor of building those castles in the air. Even this labor was somewhat diminished as time went on; and by the time he had received his coveted decree, which was stamped with a very large seal, and had every appearance of being genuine, his emotion had subsided into a feeling of pity for himself, and he felt himself to be quite an injured individual. His friend Coleman had been disposed to celebrate the delivery of the divorce, and had even gone to the extent of ordering a quiet supper for two at a swell restaurant. But as Mr. Elwell had morosely declined to celebrate, Mr. Coleman was obliged to countermand the order. But he was a good-humored fellow, Peter was; and instead of getting offended at his friend’s conduct, as some folks might have done, he simply added another hundred to his bill against his friend, and went off to celebrate the event alone. Elwell was undoubtedly miserable, and might have been much more so, but that another god had arisen to demand his worship. This was the God of Gain; and Elwell, in his worship of this foul god, speculated and worried and labored, and consequently prospered to such an extent that he got to be a very rising young man indeed. “Elwell,” said one of the old heads one day, “have you ever met Pat Morain?” “No; I think not,” replied Elwell. “Who is Pat Morain?”