and long that he and his new acquaintance might not have their first
view of the metropolis in company. But he had promised his aged
parents to come to them directly, by way of Albany. However, he was
a day ahead of his schedule; neither of them had seen Niagara; if
Thompson would excuse him, he would write his father, that the letter
would go on to herald the hour of his coming. Then they both would take
one day's lay-over at Buffalo, visiting the famous cataract entirely at
his, Barton's, expense. Thence, exchanging addresses, on their respective
ways, to meet in Manhattan later. To which Thompson agreed with
cordiality.

The letter Barton mailed at Buffalo was addressed:

J.F. MITCHELL

Binghamton

The Arlington N.Y.

Chapter II

"_A goodly, portly man, i's faith, and a corpulent:
of a cheerful look, a pleasing eye, and a most noble
carriage; and, as I think, his age some fifty, or by'r
lady, inclining to three score_."

It had been a good morning, thought Mendenhall. If only more citizens
like this big, talkative, prosperous looking stranger would settle in
Elmsdale! Over a thousand dollars' worth in one bill--not bad, that,
for a little rural New York town. Moreover, the stranger had evinced
a taste in his selection of furniture and carpets scarcely to be
expected from his slightly overdressed appearance and his loud,
dominating talk. His choice had been always swift and certain, wholly
unaffected by prices. Obviously, a self-made man, with a long purse,
this.

The big man threw up his hands in mock surrender. "Time--King's
X--'nuff!" he bellowed, a pervading and infectious smile
spreading over his broad, jovial, smooth-shaven face. "Police!
Nine--eleven--twelve hundred, sixty-eight. I'll pay you a hundred to
bind the--No, I'll just pay you now and have done with it. Don't want
the stuff delivered till some time next week, though. Wife'll run up
to-morrow or next day to take her choice of the two houses I've been
looking at. Then, paper-hanging, mantels, plumbing and all that--Make
it even twelve-fifty?" he demanded, pen poised in a plump, white hand,
eying the dealer with shrewd expectancy.

"Certainly, certainly," Mendenhall murmured, rubbing his hands with a
thought of future custom.

Scratch-tch-ch! The check was made out with a flourish. "Here you are.
I'll come round when I'm ready and tell you where to send the stuff.
By the way, where do you