in, and James
McElwin, as with quick and important step he passed along the street,
was gazed upon with an intentness almost religious. Numerous persons
claimed kinship with him, and the establishment of third or fourth
degree of cousinhood had lifted more than one family out of obscurity.
The bank must have had a surplus of twenty thousand dollars, a glaring
sum in the eyes of the grinding tradesmen about the public square. An
illustrated journal in the East had printed McElwin's picture,
together with a brief history of his life. The biographer called him a
self-made man, and gave him great credit for having scrambled for
dimes in his youth, that he might have dollars in middle life. That he
had once gone hungry rather than pay more than the worth of a meal at
an old negro's "snack house," was set forth as a "sub-headed" virtue.
He had married above him, the daughter of a neighboring "merchant,"
whose name was stamped on every shoe he sold. The old man died a
bankrupt, but the daughter, the wife of the rising capitalist,
remained proud and cool with dignity. The union was illustrated with
one picture, a girl, to become a belle, a handsome creature, with a
mysterious money grace, with a real beauty of hair, mouth and eyes.
The envious said that circumstances served to make an imperious
simpleton of her.

It was this man, with these connections, that Lyman crossed the
street to see. But to the lawyer it was not so adventurous as grimly
humorous. His Yankee shrewdness had pronounced the man a pretentious
fraud.

The banker was in his private office, busy with his papers. Lyman
heard him say to the negro who took in his name: "Mr. Lyman! I don't
know why he should want to see me. But tell him to come in."

As Lyman entered the banker looked up and said: "Well, sir."

Lyman sat down and crossed his legs. The banker looked at his feet,
then at his head.

"Mr. McElwin," said Lyman, "we have not met before, though I, of
course, have seen you often, but----"

"Well, sir, go on."

"Yes, that's what I am doing. I say that we have not met, but I board
at the house of a relative of yours, and I therefore feel that I know
you."

"Board with a relative of mine?" the banker gasped.

"Yes, with Jasper Staggs, and I want to tell you that he is about as
kind hearted an old fellow as I ever met, quaint and accommodating.
He is a cousin of yours, I believe."

"Well,--er, yes. But state your business, if you please. I am very