I must not be down-hearted; many of the best men had made a failure in the beginning.
I told him I had no head for business, and his kind face darkened.

"You must not say that, Loudon," he replied; "I will never believe my son to be a coward." "But I don't like it," I pleaded.

"It hasn't got any interest for me, and art has.

I know I could do more in art," and I reminded him that a successful painter gains large sums; that a picture of Meissonier's would sell for many thousand dollars.
"And do you think, Loudon," he replied, "that a man who can paint a thousand dollar picture has not grit enough to keep his end up in the stock market?
No, sir; this Mason (of whom you speak) or our own American Bierstadt--if you were to put them down in a wheat pit to-morrow, they would show their mettle.

Come, Loudon, my dear; heaven knows I have no thought but your own good, and I will offer you a bargain.