Henry C. Rowland

“ Finding himself an orphan at twenty-two, Archie had sold out his inherited interest, and spent the proceeds with impartiality in a number of foreign countries. The last cipher being clipped from its preceding figure, Archibald, who was possessed of consummate cheek and a rather overdeveloped sense of humor, went to his uncle.
“Uncle Jerry,” said he, “I'm broke.”
“I'm glad to hear it.”
Jeremiah spoke the truth. Both his pleasure and profit in life had come from seeing other people lose their money. ”

“ One can never tell what talents one may develop under pressure.”
“Your bills can wait,” said the old man. “Show me some of the rubbish ye brought in the van.”
“With pleasure, uncle.” Archie left the room, to return a few minutes later carrying several of his canvases, which he set down face to the wall. Drawing down the shade, he took the first, and put it on a table.
“This, uncle, is a Breton peasant girl bathing in a brook. As a matter of fact, they never do bathe, but I detest realism.” ”

“ Old Jeremiah brightened perceptibly. “Will ye have a drop whusky?” he asked.
Archie leaned forward, raising one hand to his ear. “Was it an angel that spoke?” he asked. “Really, uncle, if you startle me like that, I may have to agree with the doctors, after all.”
The whisky was ordered, and old Jeremiah watched his graceless nephew's appreciation of the “auld peet rick” with obvious envy. Presently said he:
“Now, list to me, ye sassenach. Y'are full o' sinful pride because ye think ye have trimmed an auld man on a business deal. But ye must perceive there's twa sides to the story. ”