The Financier

ic memories. Many of the things that we and he knew later were not then in existence - the telegraph, telephone, express company, ocean steamer, city delivery of mails. There were no postage-s

d of the other officers, fell heir to the place vacated by the promoted teller, at the, to him, munificent salary of thirty-five hundred dollars a year. At once he decided, as he told his wife joyously, to remove his family from 21 Buttonwood Street to 124 New Market Street, a much b

coming to almost the lower lobes of his ears. His upper lip was smooth and curiously long, and he had a long, straight nose and a chin that tended to be pointed. His eyebrows were bushy, emphasizing vague, grayish-green eyes, and his hair was short and smooth and

dence of others. He was sure that Andrew Jackson was all wrong in his opposition to Nicholas Biddle and the United States Bank, one of the great issues of the day; and he was worried, as he might well be, by the perfect storm of wildcat money which was floating about and which was constantly coming to his bank - discounted, of course, and handed out again to anxious borrowers at a profit. His bank was the Third National of Philadelphia, located in that center of all Philadelphia and indeed, at that time, of practically all national finance - Third Street - and its owners conducted a brokerage busin

tter-of-fact and inclined to take very seriously the maternal care of her three sons and one daughter. The former, captained by Frank, the eldest, were a source of considerable annoya

onomics and politics. He cared nothing for books. He was a clean, stalky, shapely boy, with a bright, clean-cut, incisive face; large, clear, gray eyes; a wide forehead; short, bristly, dark-brown hair. He had an incisive, quick-motioned, self-sufficient manner, and was forever asking questions with a keen desire for an in

tle sea-animal that looked somewhat like a horse - and another time he saw an electric eel which Benjamin Franklin's discovery had explained. One day he saw a squid and a lobster put in the tank, and in connection with them was witness to a tragedy which stayed with him all his life and cleared things up considerably intellectually. The lobster, it appeared from the talk of the idle bystanders, was offered no food, as the squid was considered his rightful prey. He lay at the bottom of the clear glass tank on the yellow sand, apparently seeing nothing - you could not tell in which way his beady, black buttons of eyes were looking - but apparently they were never off the body of the squid. The latt

ass. Only a portion of the squid remained, and his ink-bag was emptier than

squid might die, slain by the lobster, and the lobster would eat him. He looked again at the greenish-copperish e

e was a little crowd around the tank. The lobster was in the co

and grabbed him. The squid was too tired. He wasn't quick enough. He did back up, but that lobster he c

least touch of sorrow for the squid came to him as

he commented to himself. "That squid w

y armed. There was nothing for the squid to feed on; the lobster had the squid as prey. What was the resu

! And what lived on men? he asked himself. Was it other men? Wild animals lived on men. And there were Indians and cannibals. And some men were killed by storms and accidents. He wasn't so sure about men living on men; but men did kill each other. How about wars and street fights and mobs? He had se

te pleased with him

as he entered the hous

" she inquired in amazem

t squid I was telling you

es you take any interest in suc

back yard, where there was a hydrant and a post with a little table on it, and o

to his father, later,

es

ead. The lobs

ing. "Well, that's too ba

should be in this world, and how he should get along. From seeing his father count money, he was sure that he would like