“I keep him,” said the lawyer, coolly, “because he’s useful. What capital stuff that Hollands is? Does Bill run it?” “Run it! What--smuggle?” “Ay, to be sure,” returned my worthy uncle. “I hear he’s the boldest boatman on the coast; and they tell me that he saved the shipwrecked Dutchman, when all had given him up as lost.” “It is one thing,” replied the soldier, proudly, “to rescue a drowning man;--to rob the revenue, another. My son is no smuggler, Josh; nor ever will be one.” “More fool he, then; there’s money to be made that way, and nothing to be got by the other, but bruised bones and a drenched jacket.” “Nothing gotten!” exclaimed the honest quarter-master. “Is the grateful outbreaking of the heart of her to whom my boy’s gallantry has restored a husband--or the prayer of lisping childhood for him who saved a father,--are these nothing? What is money acquired by dishonesty, to these?” The lawyer grinned sarcastically. “Tears and gratitude!” he repeated. “Will tears and gratitude pay rent?--will tears and gratitude pay taxes? You’re a fool, Dick. I would rather have a five-pound note than the united prayers of the parish.” “I believe you,” replied the soldier. “And so you may,” returned the miser. “But for your own folly you might have made a fortune, and be now as wealthy as myself.” “Heaven forbid I were, Josh! if by the same means.” “And wherefore?” inquired the lawyer, with a bitter smile. “Why,” said the soldier, coolly, “just because when Death tapped at the door, I should feel rather uncomfortable at the visit.” “Don’t talk of Death; I hate to hear him mentioned.” “And I speak only of an old acquaintance. Like friends, we have often looked each other in the face. He passed me by; and when he calls in form--” “Pshaw!” said the lawyer, “have done; I hate prosing over an unpleasant subject. What has your daring done for you? For one guinea you can show, I can count down a score.” “Yes,” said the quarter-master, proudly, “mine are few in number, but they are worth yours, twice told.” “I should like to hear the reason,” said my uncle. “‘Tis simple,” returned my father. “On every coin I’m owner of, I can look full-front and say, ‘Have I not earned you honestly?’ But yours, Josh; if widows’ sighs and orphans’ tears alloyed the metal, d----n me,”--the quarter-master swore as they formerly swore in Flanders,--“nineteen out of every twenty you possess would be declared regular raps, and nailed to the counter.” “Pish!” said the lawyer, testily. “You have lived a fool, and will die a fool.”