“Doctor, I never let business interfere with pleasure,” said he. “I've reversed the old rule; my home is for comfort and pleasure, and I keep business out of it except when McCarthy comes.” Supper over, the ladies retired, and cigars were passed to the men, who remained for a smoke with the Commodore. He smoked big cigars, and always said that when he gave up smoking it would be time to give him up. “What ship is that supposed to be?” the minister asked, looking at the golden model of a ship trimmed with flowers in the centre of the table. “The _Caroline_,” said the Commodore. “She was my first ship, and a beauty--brass and mahogany trim, and every comfort--and when she was all ready I gave Delmonico an order for the best dinner he could get up. He served it in her cabin, down the bay, one beautiful afternoon. I had landed at Staten Island, and sent for my dear old mother, and showed her all over the ship. Then I h'isted the flags, and took her into the cabin and sat her down at the table opposite me. There were a number of my friends seated with us. Mother was astonished. She looked around, and says: “'Corneel, how the devil did you do it?'” “Mr. Vanderbilt,” said Doctor Deems, “I'm sorry, but I have to doubt your veracity.” “What do you mean?” the Commodore demanded. “Well,” said the Doctor, “when you sit there and tell me that your dear old Christian mother asked a question like that, it casts a doubt on the whole story.” The Commodore lowered his cigar, and said, with a sad smile: “You're right, Doctor, she said it different--no doubt o' that. I have a miserable habit of swearing. Got it years ago, when my office was the top of a barrel down at the Battery. It seemed to be necessary those days, and sometimes I thought it was a help in the steamboat business, but of course it wasn't. I ought to be ashamed of it, and I am. I'm like a horse with a hitch in his gait: it's bad, but you can't blame the horse so much, after all.” There was a touch of greatness in his answer, it seemed to me, and gave us all a broader charity for the lion-mouthed men of that day, and God knows there were many of them. A young man who sat with us asked the Commodore if he might quote his answer to Doctor Deems. “Why, sonny, I haven't the least objection,” said the Commodore. “Everybody knows that I swear, and they ought to know why, if they don't.” He was always very frank in the matter of his faults and vices, and his word for the meanest thing in the world was “sneak.” “Would you mind telling us the secret of your success?” the young man asked. “There's no secret in success, boy,” said the Commodore. “There's always a secret in failure, but not in success.” On our way to the St. Nicholas, McCarthy said to me: “To-morrow we're likely to see one of the greatest battles in history. It's between the Commodore on one side, and Fisk and his associates on the other.” “And what's the prize?” I asked.