ies, in its honest, affable, and intelligent
Secretary.

Mr. Sandford retired to his private room and looked hastily at his
morning letters; but his mind did not seem to be occupied with the
business before him. He rang the bell for the office-boy. "Tom," said
he, "go and ask Mr. Fletcher to step down here a minute." He mused after
the boy left, tapping his fingers on the table to the time of a familiar
air. "If I can keep Fletcher from dabbling in stocks, I shall make a
good thing of this. I shall keep a close watch on him. To manage men,
there is nothing like knowing how to go to work at them. ALL the fools
are jack-a-dandies, and one has only to find where the strings hang to
make them dance as he will. I have Fletcher fast. I heard a fellow
talking about taming a man, Rarey-fashion, by holding out a pole to him
with a bunch of flowers. Pooh! The best thing is a bit of paper with a
court seal at the corner, stuck on the end of a constable's staff."

Mr. Fletcher entered presently,--the office where he was employed being
only a few doors off. He was a slender young man, with strikingly
regular features and delicate complexion; his mobile mouth was covered
by a fringy moustache, and his small keen eyes were restless to a
painful degree. The sudden summons appeared to have flustered him; for
his eyes danced more than usual, giving him the startled and perplexed
look of a hunted animal at bay. He was speedily reassured by Sandford's
bland voice and encouraging smile.

"A new opening, Fletcher,--a 'pocket,' as the Californians call it. Is
there any chance to operate? Just look about. I have the funds ready.
Something safe, and fat, too."

"Plenty of chances to those who look for them," replied Fletcher. "The
men who are hard up are the best customers; they will stand a good slice
off; and if a man is sharp, he can deal as safely with them as with the
A 1s, who turn up their noses at seven per cent."

"You understand, I see."

"I think I ought. Papyrus, only yesterday, was asking if anything could
be done for him,--about fifteen hundred; offers Sandbag's note with only
thirty days to run. The note was of no use to _him_, because the banks
require two names, and his own isn't worth a straw. But Sandbag is
good."

"We'll take it. About a hundred off?"

Fletcher nodded.

"I've plenty more to invest, Fletcher. Let me know if you see any paper
worth buying."

Fletcher nodded again, but looked expectant, much like a