Gad! you want a lot, don't you?
Pretty big sale, eh, for a beginner like me?
I guess uncle'll be tickled to death." So tickled was he that after a few weeks of oil-selling Mr.Boulder urged Mr.Spillikins to retire, and wrote off many thousand dollars from the capital value of his estate.
So after this there was only one thing for Mr.Spillikins to do, and everybody told him so--namely to get married.

"Spillikins," said his friends at the club after they had taken all his loose money over the card table, "you ought to get married." "Think so ?" said Mr.Spillikins.
Goodness knows he was willing enough.

In fact, up to this point Mr.
Spillikins's whole existence had been one long aspiring sigh directed towards the joys of matrimony.
In his brief college days his timid glances had wandered by an irresistible attraction towards the seats on the right-hand side of the class room, where the girls of the first year sat, with golden pigtails down their backs, doing trigonometry.
He would have married any of them.

But when a girl can work out trigonometry at sight, what use can she possibly have for marriage?
None.

Mr.Spillikins knew this and it kept him silent.