A great desire to hurry, and yet to go cautiously, always 
followed in the train of the former thought. He must 
succeed; he must work; he mustn't be a spindling figure 
like some of these poor things about him. Never! 
It was when he turned seventeen, and it was nearing 
the end of his current school-year, that his Uncle Seneca, 
who happened to be back in Philadelphia at the time, 
stouter and more domineering than ever, said to him one 
" Now, Frank, if you're ready for it, I think I know 
where there's a good opening for you. There won't be 
any salary in it for the first year, but if you mind your 
p's and q's, they'll probably give you something as a gift 
at the end of that time. Do you know of Henry Water- 
man and Company down in Second Street ?" 
" I've seen their place." 
" Well, they tell me they might make a place for you 
as a bookkeeper. They're brokers in a way—grain and 
commission men. You say you want to get in that line. 
When school's out you go down and see Mr. Waterman— 
tell him I sent you, and he'll make a place for you, I think. 
Let me know how you come out." 
Uncle Seneca was married now, having, because of his 
wealth, attracted the attention of a poor but ambitious 
Philadelphia society matron; and because of this the gen- 
eral connections of the Cowperwoods were considered 
much better. Henry Cowperwood, the father, was plan- 
ning to move with his family rather far out on North 
Front Street, which commanded at that time a beautiful 
view of the river and was witnessing the construction 
of some charming dwellings. His four thousand dollars a 
year in these before-the-war times was considerable. He 
was making what he considered judicious and conservative 
investments—some little money in a railroad company in 
which he was a joint organizer; some few thousands more 
in a real-estate venture in the western part of the city, 
in which direction it was generally thought the city