Like most other men, too, he had a certain kindness towards those who had employed him when he was only starting in life; and just as we do not like to part with an old weather-glass from our study, or a two-feet ruler that we have carried in our pocket ever since we began business, so Mr.Dempster did not like having to erase his old client's name from the accustomed drawer in the bureau.

Our habitual life is like a wall hung with pictures, which has been shone on by the suns of many years: take one of the pictures away, and it leaves a definite blank space, to which our eyes can never turn without a sensation of discomfort.

Nay, the involuntary loss of any familiar object almost always brings a chill as from an evil omen; it seems to be the first finger-shadow of advancing death.
From all these causes combined, Mr.Dempster could never think of his lost client without strong irritation, and the very sight of Mr.Jerome passing in the street was wormwood to him.
One day, when the old gentleman was coming up Orchard Street on his roan mare, shaking the bridle, and tickling her flank with the whip as usual, though there was a perfect mutual understanding that she was not to quicken her pace, Janet happened to be on her own door-step, and he could not resist the temptation of stopping to speak to that 'nice little woman', as he always called her, though she was taller than all the rest of his feminine acquaintances.

Janet, in spite of her disposition to take her husband's part in all public matters, could bear no malice against her old friend; so they shook hands.
'Well, Mrs.Dempster, I'm sorry to my heart not to see you sometimes, that I am,' said Mr.Jerome, in a plaintive tone.

'But if you've got any poor people as wants help, and you know's deservin', send 'em to me, send 'em to me, just the same.' 'Thank you, Mr.Jerome, that I will.