Boniface Newt remonstrated.  His son was late at the office in the morning.  He drew large sums to meet his large expenses.  Several times, instead of instantly filling out the checks as Abel directed, the book-keeper had delayed, and said casually to Mr. Newt during Abel’s absence at lunch, which was usually prolonged, that he supposed it was all right to fill up a check of that amount to Mr. Abel’s order?  Mr. Boniface Newt replied, in a dogged way, that he supposed it was.

But one day when the sum had been large, and the paternal temper more than usually ruffled, he addressed the junior partner upon his return from lunch and his noontide glass with his friends at the Washington Hotel, to the effect that matters were going on much too rapidly.

“To what matters do you allude, father?” inquired Mr. Abel, with composure, as he picked his teeth with one hand, and surveyed a cigar which he held in the other.

“I mean, Sir, that you are spending a great deal too much money.”

“Why, how is that, Sir?” asked his son, as he called to the boy in the outer office to bring him a light.

“By Heavens!  Abel, you’re enough to make a man crazy!  Here I have put you into my business, over the heads of the clerks who are a hundred-fold better fitted for it than you; and you not only come down late and go away early, and destroy all kind of discipline by smoking and lounging, but you don’t manifest the slightest interest in the business; and, above all, you are living at a frightfully ruinous rate!  Yes, Sir, ruinous!  How do you suppose I can pay, or that the business can pay, for such extravagance?”

Abel smoked calmly during this energetic discourse, and blew little rings from his mouth, which he watched with interest as they melted in the air.

“Certain things are inevitable, father.”

His parent, frowning and angry, growled at him as he made this remark, and muttered,

“Well, suppose they are.”

“Now, father,” replied his son, with great composure, “let us proceed calmly.  Why should we pretend not to see what is perfectly plain?  Business nowadays proceeds by credit.  Credit is based upon something, or the show of something.  It is represented by a bank-bill.  Here now—­” And he opened his purse leisurely and drew out a five-dollar note of the Bank of New York, “here is a promise to pay five dollars—­in gold or silver, of course.  Do you suppose that the Bank of New York has gold and silver enough to pay all those promises it has issued?  Of course not.”

Abel knocked off the ash from his cigar, and took a long contemplative whiff, as if he were about making a plunge into views even more profound.  Mr. Newt, half pleased with the show of philosophy, listened with less frowning brows.

“Well, now, if by some hocus-pocus the Bank of New York hadn’t a cent in coin at this moment, it could redeem the few claims that might be made upon it by borrowing, could it not?”