"Well? You’d think so. Half the capitalists in Atlanta are daft about him. They call him a great political, financial, and moral force, with a brain as big as Abraham Lincoln’s. I was an idiot. I had a chance to get in on the ground-floor when that paper of his started, but I was wise—I was knowing. When I heard the manager of the thing was the son of one of your father’s old tenants, I pulled down one corner of my eye and turned him over to my financial rivals. You bet I see my mistake now. The stock is worth two for one, and not a scrap on the market at that. Do you know what the directors did the other day? When folks do it for you or me we will feel flattered. They insured his life for one hundred thousand dollars, because if he were to die the enterprise wouldn’t have a leg to stand on. You see, it’s all in his big brain. I suppose you know something about his boyhood?" "Oh yes," Langdon said, testily; "we were near the same age, and met now and then, but, you know, at that time our house was so full of visitors that I had little chance to see much of people in the neighborhood, and then he went West." "Ah, yes," said Sively, "and that’s where his boom started. They are circulating some odd stories on him down here, but I take them all with a grain of salt. They say he sold out his Western interests for a good sum and gave every red cent of it to his poor old mother and step-father." "That’s a fact," said Langdon. "I happen to know that it is absolutely true. When he got back he found his folks in a pretty bad shape, and he bought a good farm for them." "Well, I call that a brave thing," said the older man—"a thing I couldn’t do to save my neck from the halter. No wonder his editorials have stirred up the reading public; he means what he says. He’s the most conspicuous man in Atlanta to-day. But, say, you want to go to your room, and I’m keeping you. Go in and make yourself comfortable. I may not get to see much of you for two or three days. I have to run out of town with some men from Boston who are with me in a deal for some coal and iron land, but I’ll see you when I return." "Oh, I can get along all right, thanks," Langdon said, as Pomp, Sively’s negro man-servant, came for his bag in obedience to his master’s ring. Three days later, on his return to town from a trip to the country, Sively, not seeing anything of his guest, asked Pomp where he was. "Don’t know whar he is now, boss," the negro said, dryly. "I haint seed ’im since dis mawnin’, when he got out o’ bed an’ had me shave ’im up an’ bresh his clothes. I tell you, Marse Sively, dat man’s doin’ powerful funny. He’s certainly gone wrong somehow." "Why, what do you mean?" the bachelor asked, in alarm. "He looked all right when he got here."