“Won't it tire you, dear?”
“Tire me? Now, father, what do you take me for?” Maria settled herself in a chair. Harry leaned back his head contentedly; he had always like to be read to, and lately reading to himself had hurt his eyes. “Now, what shall I read, father?” she said.
Poor Harry, remembering his own futile investments, asked for the stock-list, and Maria read it very intelligently for a young girl who knew nothing about stocks.
“Once I owned some of that stock,” said Harry, proudly.
“Did you, father?” Maria responded, admiringly.
“Yes, and only look where it is now! If I could only have held on to it, I might have been quite a rich man.”
Harry spoke, oddly enough, with no regret. Such was the childishness of the man that a possession once his never seemed wholly lost to him. It seemed to him that he had reason to be proud of having made such a wise investment, even if he had never actually reaped any benefit from it.
“I don't see how you knew what to invest in,” Maria said, fostering his pride.
“Oh, I had to study the stock-lists and ask brokers,” Harry replied. He looked brighter. This little reinstatement in his self-esteem acted like a tonic. In some fashion Ida always kept him alive to his own deficiencies, and that was not good for a man who was naturally humble-minded. Harry sat up straighter. He looked at Maria with brighter eyes as she continued reading. “Now that is a good investment,” said he—“that bond. If I had the money to spare I would buy one of those bonds to-morrow morning.”
“Are bonds better than stocks, father?” asked Maria.