Mr. E. H. Merriwether, as was his wont when thinking, began at the beginning and reviewed the entire affair quickly but carefully. He did this again--it did not take him long--and then he began to co-ordinate his ideas and study the case. Within ten minutes he had forgotten his animosity. In fifteen he felt respect for this man. In twenty he was thinking how helpless any one man is against his ten billion trillion natural foes--microbes, seismic disturbances, floods, and the chemical reaction of hostile brains. This man, whose very name was unknown to him, had vanquished the victor--had looted the tent of the victorious general! This was incredible when spoken in a conversational tone of voice. Perhaps this same remarkable man might tell how to make Tom choose a desirable wife. It was worth while making the experiment. It was in the nature of a gamble in which E. H. Merriwether stood to win a happiness worth all the money in the world and stood to lose nothing! A knock at the door roused him from his reverie. One of the footmen arrived from the threshold. “Mr. McWayne!” Mr. Merriwether's private secretary entered. E. H. Merriwether held out his right hand. Mr. McWayne took four slips of paper and gave them to his chief, who quickly looked at them and passed them over to the master of the house. The man looked at them, indorsed them, and handed a pen to Mr. Merriwether. The czar of the Pacific & Southwestern wrote on each of the checks: Indorsement correct. E. H. Merriwether. He returned the checks to the man, who thereupon pushed a button a number of times. One of the footmen with the non-menial faces appeared dressed for the street. He looked Irish. He wore a big solitaire scarf-pin. His hat inclined to one side noticeably. He carried a square valise in each hand. They looked as if they had seen service. On each was printed, “Treasurer Tammany Hall.” “Go with Mr. McWayne to the banks and cash the checks. Mr. McWayne will identify you,” said the master of the house. “Yis, sor!” said the footman. The brogue was unnecessary, but E. H. Merri-wether smiled slightly. McWayne and the footman in mufti left together. “Think some more!” said the man to E. H. Merri-wether, and resumed his reading of the little green-leather book. Mr. Merriwether leaned back and thought some more. To him the million-dollar loss was already ancient history. The only virtue that the Wall Street life gives to a professional is the ability to take a loss of money with more or less philosophy. That philosophy is also met on the race-track, and among experts in faro as well as among real Christians. McWayne and the man were gone an hour and eighteen minutes. Mr. Merriwether had time to think of Tom and of himself and of the relation that had existed between himself and his son, and of the relations that would exist between them in the future--God willing. “Mr. McWayne!” announced the servant.