THE YOUNG MONSTER.

From boyhood, it had been Marcus Wilkeson’s fortune (or the reverse) to attract confidence, and to be sought out for advice.  And it had most generally happened that he was requested to bestow the last valuable article in cases where inexperience absolutely disqualified him from giving it.

He had found, however, that, when people ask for advice, they expect to receive it, although they reserve to themselves the right, and, in ninety-nine cases out of a hundred, exercise the privilege, of rejecting it.

But Marcus had gathered, from the old gentleman’s story, that the error of his dealings with the rebellious son lay in his constantly seeking advice from everybody, and taking it, too, instead of adopting some firm, consistent, and independent course of his own toward that unfilial monster.  Furthermore, Marcus knew that the son was already beyond the reach of reform.  For the future peace of his venerable friend, and for the good of society, he could have conscientiously recommended two things: 

First, the immediate hanging of Myndert Van Quintem, jr.  Second, his imprisonment for life in a penitentiary warranted to be strong enough to hold him.

Neither of these courses being practicable until that young man had entitled himself to the benefit of one or the other of them in the legitimate way, Marcus Wilkeson had nothing to offer, and so he told the old gentleman.

Mr. Van Quintem was disappointed.  He looked up wistfully, and said: 

“Can’t you suggest something?”

Thus appealed to, Marcus angled in the deep waters of his mind, and fished up this inadequate idea: 

“Let him travel a couple of years in Europe.”

“I have proposed it,” returned the old gentleman, “but he won’t, unless I give him five thousand dollars, and an unlimited letter of credit.  This I refused.  Besides, to tell the truth, I do not wish to exile the boy, but to reform him at home.”

Marcus was too polite to say bluntly that that was impossible; so he cast in his line again at random, and drew out this worthless suggestion: 

“Stop all his pocket money, and tell him plainly that you will disinherit him unless he reforms.”

“My dear sir,” replied the old gentleman, “that might do with some sons, but not with mine.  He would obtain money by theft, or even a worse crime, and bring disgrace upon my gray hairs.  He might go even farther—­for he has threatened it, as I told you—­and murder me in revenge.  Besides, he is on short allowance now.  I give him only thirty dollars a week—­less than a quarter of what he used to receive from me.  Much as his conduct deserves punishment, I could not reduce him to beggary, you know.”

This useless discussion was cut short by the precipitate entrance of the subject of it.  Mr. Van Quintem was greatly surprised at the sudden apparition, and his face exhibited signs first of astonishment, then of indignation, then of pleasure, in quick succession.  But before his erring son Had advanced halfway toward the father’s chair, the father turned his head slightly away, as if not daring to trust himself to an interview.