"I should think you would marry."
Giles Packard shook his head.
"When a man reaches the age of forty-five unmarried," he said, "he had better remain so. After that, marriage is a lottery."
Mr. Packard's guests found that he lived in a generous style. His housekeeper was an excellent cook, and his table was well supplied. But the days seemed long without employment. Rupert was supplied with a saddle-horse, and rode far and wide with his host, but John Plympton had reached an age when a man enjoys home comforts better than out-of-door exercise.
"Giles," he said, on the third day, "I am tired of doing nothing. Suppose you bring out your books and give me something to do."
"I will, Uncle John. When I was in Denver I bought some new books, and I will commission you to transfer my accounts from the old ones. I never was much of a bookkeeper, and I am not sure whether you can understand my entries. However, you will be able to refer to me when you get puzzled."
The old man felt quite happy when set to work in his old business. As Mr. Packard's books covered a period of over fifteen years he found the task by no means a short one, but this pleased him all the more.
"I like to feel that I am earning my living," he said.
"What do you think of me as a bookkeeper, Uncle John?"
"I think you would find it hard to obtain a position in any first-class house," answered the old man, smiling.