and Broad Streets, as mosses creep upon stones, that the more one knew
of Mr. Bayard the less one was aware of. The feeling was expressed by a
gentleman rich in Exchange experiences when he said:

"If I were to meet him in Broadway, I wouldn't believe it."

And that experienced one spoke well. For as the tiger, striped black and
gold, is made to match and blend with the sun-slashed shadows of the
jungle through which he hunts his prey, so was Mr. Bayard invisible in
that speculation whereof he crouched a most formidable factor, with this
to add to the long-toothed peril of it, that, although always in sight,
he was never more unseen than at the moment of his spring.

The change from faith and friendship and a genial warmth that had taken
place in Mr. Bayard and left him their rock-bound opposites, had its
origin in the treachery of a friend. Mr. Bayard those years before was,
in his stock sailing, beaten upon by a sudden squall of treason and
lying ingratitude; his nature was capsized, and those softer and more
generous graces were spilled out. They went to the bottom, as things
golden will; and they never came up. Mr. Bayard was betrayed by one who
had taken his hand in friendship not the hour before--one who was his
partner in business and had risen through his favor. Struck in the dark,
Mr. Bayard stood at the ticker and watched his fortune of eight millions
bleed away; when he dropped the tape he was two millions worse than
bankrupt. It was that case-hardening experience which had worked the
callous metamorphosis.

"It has taught me caution," was all he said as the quotations chattered
off the loss of his last dollar.

From that hour of night and wormwood, Mr. Bayard was another individual.
He gave men his acquaintance, but not his faith; he listened and never
believed; he had allies, not friends, and the limits of his confidence
in a man were the limits of that man's interest.

And yet in this arctic hardness there remained one generous spot. There
was one name to retain a sweetness and a perfume for Mr. Bayard that one
finds in flowers, and the perishing years had not withered it on the
hillsides of his regard. When Mr. Bayard went down on that day of storm
and the dark waters of defeat and bankruptcy closed above him, there had
been stretched one hand to save. Dudley Storms was hardly known to Mr.
Bayard, for the former was of your silent, retiring men whom no one
discovers until the time of need. His sort