am Everett, rubbing his hands together quickly, in
irrepressible pleasure.

Mr. Everett was a stock and money broker, and had just made an
"operation," by which a clear gain of two thousand dollars was
secured. He was alone in his office: or, so much alone as not to
feel restrained by the presence of another. And yet, a pair of dark,
sad eyes were fixed intently upon his self-satisfied countenance,
with an expression, had he observed it, that would, at least, have
excited a moment's wonder. The owner of this pair of eyes was a
slender, rather poorly dressed lad, in his thirteenth year, whom Mr.
Everett had engaged, a short time previously, to attend in his
office and run upon errands. He was the son of a widowed mother, now
in greatly reduced circumstances. His father had been an early
friend of Mr. Everett. It was this fact which led to the boy's
introduction into the broker's office.

"Two thousand dollars!" The broker had uttered aloud his
satisfaction; but now he communed with himself silently. "Two
thousand dollars! A nice little sum that for a single day's work. I
wonder what Mr. Jenkins will say tomorrow morning, when he hears of
such an advance in these securities?"

From some cause, this mental reference to Mr. Jenkins did not
increase our friend's state of exhilaration. Most probably, there
was something in the transaction by which he had gained so handsome
a sum of money, that, in calmer moments, would not bear too close a
scrutiny--something that Mr. Everett would hardly like to have
blazoned forth to the world. Be this as it may, a more sober mood,
in time, succeeded, and although the broker was richer by two
thousand dollars than when he arose in the morning, he was certainly
no happier.

An hour afterward, a business friend came into the office of Mr.
Everett and said--

"Have you heard about Cassen?"

"No; what of him?"

"He's said to be off to California with twenty thousand dollars in
his pockets more than justly belongs to him."

"What!"

"Too true, I believe. His name is in the list of passengers who left
New York in the steamer yesterday."

"The scoundrel!" exclaimed Mr. Everett, who, by this time, was very
considerably excited.

"He owes you, does he?" said the friend.

"I lent him three hundred dollars only day before yesterday."

"A clear swindle."

"Yes, it is. Oh, if I could only get my hands on him!".

Mr. Everett's countenance, as he said this, did not wear a very
amiab