rkled a big three-carat diamond; from his red-brown
cravat--price three-fifty--sparkled another brilliant white stone
fully as large; an immaculate white waistcoat was upon his broad
chest; from his pocket depended a richly jeweled watch-fob. For
just an instant Jonas Bubble was staggered, and then the recently
imbibed idea of large operations quickly reasserted itself. Why, here
before him stood a commercial Napoleon. Only a week or so before
Wallingford's bank balance had been sixty thousand dollars; at other
times it had been even more, and there had been many intervals
between when his balance had been less than it was now. Here was a man
to whom forty-five thousand dollars meant a mere temporary convenience
in conducting operations of incalculable size. Here was a man who had
already done more to advance the prosperity of Blakeville than any one
other--excepting, of course, himself--in its history. Here was a man
predestined by fate to enormous wealth, and, moreover, one who might
be linked to Mr. Bubble, he hoped and believed, by ties even stronger
than mere business associations.

"Pretty good sum, Wallingford," said he. "We have the money, though,
and I don't see why we shouldn't arrange it. Thirty-day note, I
suppose?"

"Oh, anything you like," said Wallingford carelessly. "Fifteen days
will do just as well, but I suppose you'd rather have the interest for
thirty," and he laughed pleasantly.

"Yes, indeed," Jonas replied, echoing the laugh. "You're just in the
nick of time, though, Wallingford. A month from now we wouldn't have
so much. I'm making arrangements not to have idle capital on hand."

"Idle money always yells at me to put it back into circulation," said
Wallingford, looking about the desk. "Where are your note blanks?"

"Er--right here," replied Mr. Bubble, drawing the pad from a drawer.
"By the way, Wallingford, of course we'll have to arrange the little
matter of securities, and perhaps I'd better see the directors about a
loan of this size."

"Oh, certainly," agreed Wallingford. "As for security, I'll just turn
over to you my bank stock and a holding on the Etruscan property."

For one fleeting instant it flashed across Mr. Bubble's mind that he
had sold this very property to Wallingford for the sum of one thousand
dollars; but a small patch of stony ground which had been worth
absolutely nothing before the finding of gold in it had been known to
become worth a million in a day, as Walling