A mother may plan the marriage of her daughter, for that is romantic, but she looks with an anxious eye upon the marriage of her son, for that is serious.
One evening, when Witherspoon and Henry had gone into the library to smoke, the merchant remarked: "I want, to talk to you about the course of your paper." "All right, sir." The merchant stood on the hearth-rug.

He lighted his cigar, turned it round and round, and then said: "Brooks called my attention this afternoon to an article on working girls.

Does it meet with your approval ?" "Why, yes.

It was a special assignment, and I gave it out." "Hum!" Witherspoon grunted.

He sat down in his leather-covered chair, crossed his legs, struck a match on the sole of his slipper, relighted his cigar, which he had suffered to go out, and for a time smoked in silence.
"Is there anything wrong about it ?" Henry asked.
"I might ask you if there is anything right about it," Witherspoon replied.