He was not a blue Federalist, and he never d'd the Democrats.
With unconscious skill he shot the angry rapids of discussion, and swept, by a sure instinct, toward the quiet water on which he liked to ride.

In the counting-room or the meeting of directors, when his neighbors waxed furious upon raking over some outrage of that old French infidel, Tom Jefferson, as they called him, sending him and his gun-boats where no man or boat wants to go, Mr.Gray rolled his neck in his white cravat, crossed his legs, and shook his black-gaitered shoe, and beamed, and smiled, and blew his nose, and hum'd, and ha'd, and said, "Ah, yes!" "Ah, indeed ?" "Quite so!" and held his tongue.
Mr.Savory Gray minded his own business; but his business did not mind him.

There came a sudden crash--one of the commercial earthquakes that shake fortunes to their foundations and scatter failure on every side.

One day he sat in his office consoling his friend Jowlson, who had been ruined.

Mr.Jowlson was terribly agitated--credit gone--fortune wrecked--no prospects--"O wife and children!" he cried, rocking to and fro as he sat.
"My dear Jowlson, you must not give way in this manner.