THE FINANCIER 
Yes, I can. It will cost you ten per cent.," he added, 
jestingly. "Why don't you just hold it, though? I'll 
let you have the thirty-two dollars until the end of the 
month." 
"Oh no," said his son. " You discount it and take 
your money. I may want mine." He had an air of 
business. 
His father smiled. "All right," he said, "I'll fix it 
to-morrow. Tell me just how you did this." And his 
son told him. 
His senior listened with keen interest. This, he thought, 
was a remarkable thing for a boy of Frank's age to have 
done—clearing thirty dollars at one clip. He wanted 
to go home and tell his wife, and later his brother-in-law, 
Seneca Davis, when he should see him again. Frank was 
a remarkable boy. At this rate he would certainly make 
his mark some day. 
At seven o'clock that night his wife heard about it, and 
in due time Uncle Seneca. Frank had indulged in no 
other exciting deeds until that time. Uncle Seneca was 
pleased. 
"What 'd I tell you, Cowperwood?" he asked. "He 
has stuff in him, that youngster. Look out for him." 
Mrs. Cowperwood looked at her boy curiously at din- 
ner. Was this the son she had nursed at her bosom not 
so very long before? Surely he was developing rapidly_ 
As for the financier, he was bland and calm, radiant but 
inscrutable, and without any desire to talk or boast. 
"Yes, I made thirty dollars," he answered his father, 
when the latter told it in the presence of his mother; but 
he neither blushed nor was he nervous nor manifested ex- 
citement in any way. 
"Well, Frank, I hope you can do that often," said his 
mother, happily. 
"I hope so, too, ma," was his rather non-committal 
reply.