“Perkins? Perkins? Could it have been Perkins?” essayed the other tentatively, his eyes fixed keenly on the ingenuous countenance of his opposite; and then, as Emanuel's head nodded forward affirmatively: “Why, that's the name--Perkins,” proclaimed the stranger with a little smile of triumph. “Probably J. W. Perkins,” said Emanuel. “Mr. J. W. Perkins is our leading hardware merchant. He banks with us; I see him every day--pretty near it.” “No; not J. W. Perkins,” instantly confessed his companion. “That's the name all right enough, but not the initials. Didn't this Mr. Perkins have a brother, or a cousin or something, who died?” “Oh, I know who you mean, now,” said Emanuel, glad to be able to help with the identification. “Alfred Perkins--he died two years ago this coming October.” “How old was he?” The Northerner had the air about him of being determined to make sure. “About fifty, I judge--maybe fifty-two or three.” “And didn't they use to call him Al for short?” “Yes; nearly everybody did--Mr. Al Perkins.” “That's the party,” agreed the other. “Al Perkins! I knew him well. Strange, now, that I can't think where it was I met him--I move round so much in my business, being on the road as a travelling man, it's hard keeping track of people; but I know we spent a week or two together somewhere or other. Speaking of names, mine is Caruthers--John P. Caruthers. Sorry I haven't got a card with me--I ran out of cards yesterday.” “Mine,” said our townsman, “is Emanuel Moon.” “Glad to know you, Mr. Moon,” said Mr. Caruthers as he sought Emanuel's right hand and shook it heartily. “Very glad indeed. You don't meet many people of your name--Oh, by Jove, that's another funny thing!” “What?” said Emanuel. “Why,” said Mr. Caruthers, “I used to have a pal--a good friend--with your name; Robert Moon it was. He lived in Detroit, Michigan. Fine fellow, Bob was. I wonder could old Bob Moon have been your cousin?” “No,” said Emanuel almost regretfully; “I'm afraid not. All my people live South, so far as I know.” “Well, anyhow, you'd enjoy knowing old Bob,” went on the companionable Mr. Caruthers. “Have a smoke?” He produced both cigars and cigarettes. Emanuel said he never smoked, so Mr. Caruthers lighted a cigar. Up to this point the conversation had been more or less general. Now, somehow, it took a rather personal and direct trend. Mr. Caruthers proved to be an excellent listener, although he asked quite a number of leading questions as they went along. He evinced a kindly curiosity regarding Emanuel's connection with the bank. He was interested in banks, it seemed; his uncle, now deceased, had been, he said, a very prominent banker in Springfield, Massachusetts.