This offering has to do with a leading financier of a Middle Western city—a gentleman renowned for his personal vanity as well as for his cold-blooded sagacity in financial matters. The gentleman in question had a glass eye; but, so well did it match its fellow, that it was a point of pride with the owner that no one, lacking full information on the subject, could tell at a glance the artificial from the real one. His name was Oliver. One day, a citizen of the community, who was a chronic borrower, emerged from Mr. Oliver’s bank after an unsuccessful effort to negotiate a loan, and on the sidewalk met a friend. “Say,” he said, “you know a lot of people in this town have never been able to tell which one of old Oliver’s eyes was his glass eye. Well, I know. I found out awhile ago when I was in there trying to get him to let me make a ninety-day note. All the time we were talking I was watching him and I finally caught onto the secret. It’s the left one.” “How do you know it’s the left one?” asked his friend. “Because it was the one that seemed to have a kindly human gleam in it.” § 219 A Call for the Prohibited Stuff A hand-picked group of American bankers went to France to study financial and economic conditions with a view to pooling a large loan on some Continental industrial properties. Naturally, the prospective borrowers exerted themselves to win the favor of the distinguished visitors. The hosts labored under the impression, seemingly, that, because America has in force a Prohibition law, their guests must be exceedingly thirsty. Accordingly, in whatsoever part of the republic the party stopped, the pick of the vintages of that particular district was served. There was wine for breakfast, wine for luncheon, wine for dinner, wine for late supper and unlimited wines between meals. Now, one of the group from the States was a native son of the far West. Through his life he had been an imbiber but an exceedingly moderate one. Howsomever, if his gorge rose and his palate grew jaded because of the irrigating facilities constantly provided by his hospitable French friends, he gave no sign, for he was a polite man. At length the expedition arrived in Paris, after a tour of what seemed to the Westerner all the vineyards in France. On the day of his arrival he met an old acquaintance now residing abroad. “Say,” declared his friend, “this reunion calls for a celebration. You’ve got to dine with me to-night at the Golden Snail. I’ll order some food there that’ll make your eyes bug out. “As a further inducement, I might add that the Golden Snail restaurant has as good a cellar as there is in this town. You can have whatever you want to drink and as much of it as you can hold. Now, there’s a Burgundy——” “Hold on!” said the Californian. “Do you mean that? Can I really have what I crave most in this world? It may be hard to find in this town—I warn you of that.” “You name the brand and I’ll engage to find it.”