"TEN THOUSAND DOLLARS REWARD.--This sum of money will be paid for the recovery of the body of the Hon. David Lockwin, lost in Georgian Bay the morning of Oct. 17. When last seen the body was afloat in the yawl of the propeller Africa, off Cape Croker. For full particulars and suggestions, address H. M. H. Wandrell, Chicago, Ill." This advertisement may be seen everywhere. It increases the public excitement attending the death of the people's idol. There is a ferment of the whole body politic. Of all the popular pastors who turn the catastrophe to their account the famous preacher at Esther Lockwin's church makes the most of it. To a vast gathering of the devout and the curious he dwells upon the uncertainties of life. Here, indeed, was a Chicagoan who but yesterday was almost certain to be President of the United States. "Now his beloved body, my dear brethren and fellow-citizens, lies buried in the sands of an unfrequented sea." There is suppressed emotion. "And as for man," chants the harmonious choir, "his days are as grass." "As a flower of the field," sounds the bass. "So he flourisheth," answers the soft alto. "For the wind passeth over it," sings the tenor. "And it is gone," proclaims the treble. "And the place thereof shall know it no more," breathes the full choir, preparing to shout that the mercy of the Lord is from everlasting to everlasting upon them that fear Him. It is found that Lockwin had hosts of friends. There is so much inquiry on account of that strange journey to Owen Sound that the political boss is grievously disturbed. Corkey is not blind to this general uneasiness. He reads the posters and the advertisements. He whistles. It is a sum of money worthy of deep consideration. "You offered to l-le-end to her," observes the mascot. "Well, if she had needed the stuff she'd a been after it soon enough, wouldn't she? I don't offer it to everybody. But that ain't the point. I'm going after that roll--ten thousand dollars! You want to come? If I win, you git $500. I reckon that's enough for a kid." It is a project which is well conceived, for Corkey may easily arrange for a salary from his great newspaper. To find Lockwin's body would be a clever feat of journalism, inasmuch as the search has been abandoned by the other papers. A delegation of dock-frequenters waits on Corkey to demand that he shall stand for Congress in the second special election, made necessary by the death of Lockwin. "Gentlemen, I'm off on business. I beg to de--de--re--re--drop out! Please excuse me, and take something." The touching committees cannot touch Corkey. "The plant has been sprung," they comment, "His barrel is empty." Corkey had once been rich when he did not know the value of wealth. He had been reduced to poverty. On becoming a reporter, he had laboriously saved $1,000 in gold coins. In a few weeks $300 of this store had been dissipated.