“There’s a young man that came into our employ last October whom we took a fancy to, or rather my senior did, and we have an idea of promoting him. My senior thinks the world of him, has the young man at his house, and he is even making up to his daughter. He calls himself Brandon--Frank Brandon.” At this Potts started from an easy lounging attitude, in which he was trying to “do” the British noble, and with startling intensity of gaze looked Brandon full in the face. “I think the young man is fairish,” continues Brandon, “but nothing extraordinary. He is industrious and sober, but he ain’t quick, and he never had any real business experience till he came to us. Now, my senior from the very first was infatuated with him, gave him a large salary, and, in spite of my warnings that he ought to be cautious, he wants to make him head-clerk, with an eye to making him partner next year. And so bent on this is he that I know he would dissolve partnership with me if I refused, take the young man, let him marry his daughter, and leave him all his money when he dies. That’s no small sum, for old Mr. Beamish is worth in real estate round Cincinnati over two millions of dollars. So, you see, I have a right to feel anxious, more especially as I don’t mind telling you, Sir John, who understand these matters, that I thought I had a very good chance myself with old Beamish’s daughter.” Brandon spoke all this very rapidly, and with the air of one who was trying to conceal his feelings of dislike to the clerk of whom he was so jealous. Potts looked at him with an encouraging smile, and asked, as he stopped, “And how did you happen to hear of me?” “That’s just what I was coming to. Sir John!” Brandon drew his chair nearer, apparently in deep excitement, and in a more nasal tone than ever, with a confidential air, he went on: “You see, I mistrusted this young man who was carrying every thing before him with a high hand, right in my very teeth, and I watched him. I pumped him to see if I couldn’t get him to tell something about himself. But the fellow was always on his guard, and always told the same story. This is what he tells: He says that his father was Ralph Brandon of Brandon Hall, Devonshire, and that he got very poor--he was ruined, in fact, by--I beg your pardon, Sir John, but he says it was you, and that you drove the family away. They then came over to America, and he got to Cincinnati. The old man, he says, died before they left, but he won’t tell what became of the others. I confess I believed it was all a lie, and didn’t think there was any such place as Brandon Hall, so I determined to find out, naturally enough, Sir John, when two millions were at stake.” Potts winked. “Well, I suddenly found my health giving way, and had to come to Europe. You see what a delicate creature I am!” Potts laughed with intense glee.