you'd like to," urged the
other. "There's no reason you shouldn't. Why, man, the bulk of this
country is composed of suckers that are able to lay hands on from one
to ten thousand apiece. They'll spend ten years to get it and can be
separated from it in ten minutes. You're one of the born separators.
You were cut out for nothing but easy money."

Easy money! The phrase sank into the very soul of Jonathan Reuben Wix.
Every professional, commercial and manufacturing man who knew him had
predicted for him a brilliant future; but they had given him false
credit for his father's patience to plod for years. Heredity had only
given him, upon his father's side, selfishness and ingenuity; upon his
mother's side, selfishness and a passion for luxurious comfort, and
now, at twenty-six, he was still a young man without any prospect
whatsoever.

Easy money! He was still dreaming of it; looking lazily for chance to
throw it his way, and reading law, commercial law principally, in a
desultory fashion, though absorbing more than he knew, when one day,
about six months afterward, the black-haired young man landed in
Filmore. He was growing a sparse, jet-black mustache now, and wore a
solemn, black frock-coat which fitted his slender frame like a glove.
He walked first into the Filmore Bank, and by his mere appearance
there nearly scared Clifford Gilman into fits.

"I guess you don't remember me," said the stranger with a smile. "My
name is Horace G. Daw, and I had the pleasure of doing a little
business with you at the Putnam County Fair."

"Yes, I--I--remember," admitted Gilman, thankful that there were no
depositors in, and looking apprehensively out of the door. "What can I
do for you?"

"I have a little business opportunity that I think would about suit
you," said Mr. Daw, reaching toward his inside coat pocket.

"Not here; not here!" Gilman nervously interrupted him. "Somebody
might come in at any minute, even Mr. Smalley himself. He's started
for the train, but he might come back."

"When, then, can I see you?" demanded Daw, seeing that Gilman was
afraid of him. He had intended to meet the young man upon terms of
jovial cordiality, but this was better.

"Any time you say, out of hours," said Gilman.

"Then suppose you come down to the Grand Hotel at from seven-thirty to
eight o'clock."

"All right," gulped Gilman. "I'll be there."

Under the circumstances Mr. Daw changed his plans immediately. He had
meant to hunt u