He was liked in the
financial district and he was sure that he had a successful future.
Because of his analysis of the brokerage situation he had come to the
conclusion that he did not want to be a stock gambler. Instead, he was
considering the matter of engaging in bill-brokering, a business which
he had observed to be very profitable and which involved no risk as long
as one had capital. Through his work and his father's connections he
had met many people--merchants, bankers, traders. He could get their
business, or a part of it, he knew. People in Drexel & Co. and Clark &
Co. were friendly to him. Jay Cooke, a rising banking personality, was a
personal friend of his.

Meanwhile he called on Mrs. Semple, and the more he called the better he
liked her. There was no exchange of brilliant ideas between them; but he
had a way of being comforting and social when he wished. He advised
her about her business affairs in so intelligent a way that even her
relatives approved of it. She came to like him, because he was so
considerate, quiet, reassuring, and so ready to explain over and over
until everything was quite plain to her. She could see that he was
looking on her affairs quite as if they were his own, trying to make
them safe and secure.

"You're so very kind, Frank," she said to him, one night. "I'm awfully
grateful. I don't know what I would have done if it hadn't been for
you."

She looked at his handsome face, which was turned to hers, with
child-like simplicity.

"Not at all. Not at all. I want to do it. I wouldn't have been happy if
I couldn't."

His eyes had a peculiar, subtle ray in them--not a gleam. She felt warm
toward him, sympathetic, quite satisfied that she could lean on him.

"Well, I am very grateful just the same. You've been so good. Come out
Sunday again, if you want to, or any evening. I'll be home."

It was while he was calling on her in this way that his Uncle Seneca
died in Cuba and left him fifteen thousand dollars. This money made him
worth nearly twenty-five thousand dollars in his own right, and he knew
exactly what to do with it. A panic had come since Mr. Semple had died,
which had illustrated to him very clearly what an uncertain thing the
brokerage business was. There was really a severe business depression.
Money was so scarce that it could fairly be said not to exist at all.
Capital, frightened by uncertain trade and money conditions, everywhere,
retired to its hiding-places in