but perhaps as readily accounted for by
considering it as the yawning and stretching of a young soul cramped too
long in one moral posture.

Richard Veneer was a young man of remarkable experience for his years.
He ran less risk, therefore, in exposing himself to the temptations and
dangers of a great city than many older men, who, seeking the livelier
scenes of excitement to be found in large towns as a relaxation after
the monotonous routine of family life, are too often taken advantage of
and made the victims of their sentiments or their generous confidence
in their fellow-creatures. Such was not his destiny. There was something
about him which looked as if he would not take bullying kindly. He had
also the advantage of being acquainted with most of those ingenious
devices by which the proverbial inconstancy of fortune is steadied to
something more nearly approaching fixed laws, and the dangerous risks
which have so often led young men to ruin and suicide are practically
reduced to somewhat less than nothing. So that Mr. Richard Veneer worked
off his nervous energies without any troublesome adventure, and
was ready to return to Rockland in less than a week, without having
lightened the money-belt he wore round his body, or tarnished the long
glittering knife he carried in his boot.

Dick had sent his trunk to the nearest town through which the railroad
leading to the city passed. He rode off on his black horse and left him
at the place where he took the cars. On arriving at the city station, he
took a coach and drove to one of the great hotels. Thither drove also
a sagacious-looking, middle-aged man, who entered his name as "W.
Thompson" in the book at the office immediately after that of "R.
Venner." Mr. "Thompson" kept a carelessly observant eye upon Mr. Venner
during his stay at the hotel, and followed him to the cars when he left,
looking over his shoulder when he bought his ticket at the station, and
seeing him fairly off without obtruding himself in any offensive way
upon his attention. Mr. Thompson, known in other quarters as Detective
Policeman Terry, got very little by his trouble. Richard Venner did
not turn out to be the wife-poisoner, the defaulting cashier, the
river-pirate, or the great counterfeiter. He paid his hotel-bill as a
gentleman should always do, if he has the money and can spare it. The
detective had probably overrated his own sagacity when he ventured
to suspect Mr. Venner. He reported to