He had stopped taking one regularly.

He put on his spectacles, and spread out the paper in his shaking hands, and scrutinized the stock-list eagerly, but he could not find what he wanted.

The "Golden Hope" had long since dropped to a still level below all record of fluctuations.

A young man passing to his place at the bench looked over his shoulder.

"Counting up your dividends, Brewster ?" he asked, with a grin.
Andrew folded up the paper gloomily and made no reply.
"Irish dividends, maybe," said the man, with a chuckle at his own wit, and a backward roll of a facetious eye.
"Oh, shut up, you're too smart to live," said the man who stood next at the bench.