full of people waiting for
it to be distributed; and Frank waited with them, leaning against the
wall, with his head bent down, and beating his boot with his
riding-whip.

'I must decide soon,' he thought, when a voice not far from him caught
his ear, and glancing from under his hat, he saw Peterkin coming in,
portly and pompous, and with him a dapper little man, who, in the days
of the 'Liza Ann, had been a driver for the boat, but who now, like his
former employer, was a millionaire, and wore a thousand-dollar diamond
ring. To him Peterkin was saying:

'There, that's him--that's Frank Tracy, the biggest swell in town--lives
in that handsome place I was telling you about.'

Strange that words like these from a man like old Peterkin should have
inflated Frank's pride; but he was weak in many points; and though he
detested Peterkin, it gratified him to be pointed out to strangers as a
swell who lived in a fine house, and with the puff of vanity came the
reflection that, as Frank Tracy of some other place than Tracy Park,
with all its appliances of wealth, he would not be a swell whom
strangers cared to see, and Jerry's chance was lost again.

'Here is your mail, Mr. Tracy,' the postmistress said; and stepping
forward, Frank took his letters from her, just as Peterkin slapped him
on the shoulder, and, with a familiarity which made Frank want to knock
him down, called out:

'Hallo, Tracy! Just the feller I wanted to see. Let me introduce you to
Mr. Bijah Jones, from Pennsylvany; used to drive hosses for me in the
days I ain't ashamed of, by a long shot. He's bought him a place out
from Philadelphy, and wants to lay it out _a la--a la_--dumbed if I
know the word, but like them old chaps' gardens in Europe, and I told
him of Tracy Park, which beats everything holler in this part of the
country. Will you let us go over it and take a survey?'

'Certainly; go where you like,' Frank said, struggling to reach the
door; but Peterkin button-holed him and held him fast, while he
continued:

'I say, Tracy, heard anything from them diamonds?'

'Nothing,' was the reply.

'Didn't hunt in the right quarter,' Peterkin continued, 'leastwise
didn't foller it up, or you'd a found 'em without so much advertisin'.'

'What do you mean?' Frank asked.

'Oh, nothin',' Peterkin replied; 'only them diamonds never went off
without hands, and them hands ain't a thousand miles from the park.'

'Perhaps not,' Frank answered, mechanically,