Here he was first introduced to Philo Scovill, a robust young carpenter, who was hewing timber for Merwin's new brick tavern, afterwards called the Mansion House. Mr. Cutter had experienced what our city boys would regard as a rough beginning in life.

"Of course, you don't know Tom Merwin," said Longley, almost genially. "Yes, I know about that loan. It hasn't any security except Tom Merwin's word. Somehow, I've always found that when a man's word is good it's the best security there is. Oh, yes, I know the Government doesn't think so. I guess I'll see Tom about that note." Mr. Todd's dyspepsia seemed to grow suddenly worse.

Merwin broke into a run, and Longley kept with him, hearing only a rather pleasing whistle somewhere in the night rendering the lugubrious air of "The Cowboy's Lament ." "It's the only tune he knows," shouted Merwin, as he ran. "I'll bet " They were at the door of Merwin's house. He kicked it open and fell over an old valise lying in the middle of the floor.

The distance between Hudson and Cleveland was but twenty-four miles, but that distance had never been done in one day by any team. Mr. Baldwin thought the time had come for performing the feat, and accordingly set out on the journey. Just at tea time he drew rein in front of Merwin's tavern, at the corner of Superior street and Vineyard lane, and shouted to the landlord.

The President of the First National lounged in his chair half an hour longer, and then he lit a mild cigar, and went over to Tom Merwin's house. Merwin, a ranchman in brown duck, with a contemplative eye, sat with his feet upon a table, plaiting a rawhide quirt. "Tom," said Longley, leaning against the table, "you heard anything from Ed yet?" "Not yet," said Merwin, continuing his plaiting.

The examiner was surprised to see a smile creep about the rugged mouth of the banker, and a kindly twinkle in his light-blue eyes. If he saw the seriousness of the affair, it did not show in his countenance. "Of course, you don't know Tom Merwin," said Longley, almost genially. "Yes, I know about that loan. It hasn't any security except Tom Merwin's word.

Merwin broke into a run, and Longley kept with him, hearing only a rather pleasing whistle somewhere in the night rendering the lugubrious air of "The Cowboy's Lament." "It's the only tune he knows," shouted Merwin, as he ran. "I'll bet " They were at the door of Merwin's house. He kicked it open and fell over an old valise lying in the middle of the floor.

If this loan has been cleared out of the way by that time it will not be mentioned in my report. If not I will have to do my duty." With that the examiner bowed and departed. The President of the First National lounged in his chair half an hour longer, and then he lit a mild cigar, and went over to Tom Merwin's house.

It was supposed that he had laid up some money, but no one thought he had over four or five hundred dollars. "I wish you had about three thousand dollars," said Merwin to him, one day. Merwin's business had turned out well. In five years, he had cleared over twenty thousand dollars. "Why?" asked Peyton. "I know a first-rate chance for you." "Indeed. Where?"

She went to bed. He spiraled into a chair to meditate his wickedness. He felt that he was as near to being a hypocrite as was possible in Bohemia. He had met two talented ladies at the dinner, one was a sculptress from Mr. Samuel Merwin's Washington Square and the other was a paintress from Mr. Owen Johnson's Lincoln Square.