Mr. Craven sought his office in a self-complacent mood.

"By Jove!" he said to himself, "I'm in luck. It's lucky I thought to tell her that I was rich. I wish somebody would come along and buy that Lake Superior mining stock at five cents on a dollar," he soliloquized, laughing softly; "and if he'd be good enough to let me know whereabouts that house in New York is, I should feel very much obliged. However, she believes it, and that's enough. No, on the whole, it isn't quite enough, for I must have some ready money to buy a wedding suit, as well as to pay for my wedding tour. I can't very well call upon Mrs. Craven that is to be for that. Once married, I'm all right."

The result of these cogitations was that having first secured Mrs. Hunter's consent to a marriage at the end of two months, he went to New York to see how he could solve the financial problem.

He went straightway to a dingy room in Nassau Street, occupied by an old man as shabby as the apartment he occupied. Yet this old man was a capitalist, who had for thirty years lent money at usurious interest, taking advantage of a tight money market and the needs of embarrassed men, and there are always plenty of the latter class in a great city like New York. In this way he had accumulated a large fortune, without altering his style of living. He slept in a small room connected with his office, and took his meals at some one of the cheap restaurants in the neighborhood. He was an old man, of nearly seventy, with bent form, long white beard, face seamed with wrinkles, and thick, bushy eyebrows, beneath which peered a pair of sharp, keen eyes. Such was Job Green, the money-lender.

"Good morning," said Mr. Craven, entering his office.

"Good morning, Mr. Craven," answered the old man. He had not met his visitor for a long time, but he seldom forgot a face. "I haven't seen you for years."

"No, I'm living in the country now."

"In the country?"

"Yes, in the town of Shelby, fifty miles from the city."

"Aha! you have retired on a fortune?" inquired the old man, waggishly.

"Not yet, but I shall soon, I hope."

"Indeed!" returned Job, lifting his eyebrows as he emphasized the word. "Then you find business better in the country than in the city?"

"Business doesn't amount to much."

"Then how will you retire on the fortune, Mr. Craven? I really should like to know. Perhaps I might move out there myself."

"I don't think, Mr. Green," said Craven, with his soft smile, "you would take the same course to step into a fortune."

"And why not?" inquired the old man, innocently.

"Because I am to marry a rich widow," said Mr. Craven.

"Aha! that is very good," said Job, laughing. "Marrying isn't exactly in my line, to be sure. Who is the lucky woman?"

"I will tell you, Mr. Green, for I want you to help me in the matter."

"How can I help you? You don't want money if you are going to marry a fortune," said Job, beginning to be suspicious that this was a story trumped up to deceive him.

"Yes, I do, and I will tell you why. She thinks I am rich."

"And marries you for your money? Aha! that is very good," and the man laughed.

"I told her I owned twenty thousand dollars' worth of stock in a Lake Superior mine."

"Very good."

"And a fifteen-thousand-dollar house in this city."

"Oh, you droll dog! You'll kill me with laughing, Mr. Craven; I shall certainly choke," and old Job, struck with the drollness of regarding the man before him as a capitalist, laughed till he was seized with a coughing spell.

"Well, well, Craven, you're a genius," said Job, recovering himself. "You wouldn't—ha! ha!—like to have me advance you a few thousand on the mines, would you now, or take a mortgage on the house?"

"Yes, I would."

"I'll give you a check on the bank of Patagonia, shall I?"

"I see you will have your joke, Mr. Green. But I do want some money, and I'll tell you why. You see I am to be married in two months, and I must have a new suit of clothes, and go on a wedding tour. That'll cost me two or three hundred dollars."

"Ask Mrs. Craven for the money."

"I would, if she were Mrs. Craven, but it won't do to undeceive her too soon."

"You don't expect me to furnish the money, Craven, do you?"

"Yes, I do."

"What security have you to offer?"

"The security of my marriage."

"Are you sure there is to be a marriage?" demanded Job, keenly. "Tell me, now, is the rich widow a humbug to swindle me out of my money? Aha! Craven, I have you."

"No, you haven't, Mr. Green," said Craven, earnestly. "It's a real thing; it's a Mrs. Hunter of Shelby; her husband died two years ago."

"How much money has she got?"

"Sixty thousand dollars."

"What, in her own right?"

"Why, there's a son—a boy of fifteen," said Mr. Craven, reluctantly.

"Aha! Well how much has he got of this money?"

"I'll tell you the plain truth, Mr. Green. He is to have two-thirds when he comes of age. His mother has the balance, and enjoys the income of the whole, of course providing for him till that time."

"That's good," said Job, thoughtfully.

"Of course, what she has I shall have," added Craven. "To tell the truth," he continued, smiling softly, "I shan't spoil the young gentleman by indulgence when he is my step-son. I shan't waste much of his income on him."

"Perhaps the mother will raise a fuss," suggested Job.

"No, she won't. She's a weak, yielding woman. I can turn her round my finger."

"Well, what do you want then?"

"I want three hundred and fifty dollars for ninety days."

"And suppose I let you have it?"

"I will pay you five hundred. That will allow fifty dollars a month for the loan."

"But you see, Craven, she might give you the slip. There's a risk about it."

"Come to Shelby yourself, and make all the inquiries you see fit. Then you will see that I have spoken the truth, and there is no risk at all."

"Well, well, perhaps I will. If all is right, I may let you have the money."

Two days afterward the old man came to Shelby, stipulating that his traveling expenses should be paid by Craven. He inquired around cautiously, and was convinced that the story was correct. Finally he agreed to lend the money, but drove a harder bargain than first proposed—exacting six hundred dollars in return for his loan of three hundred and fifty. It was outrageous, of course, but he knew how important it was to Mr. Craven, and that he must consent.

Frank, according to his determination, said not a word further to his mother about the marriage. He avoided mentioning Mr. Craven's name even. But an incident about this time, though Frank was quite innocent in the matter, served to increase Mr. Craven's dislike for him.

He had spent the evening with Mrs. Hunter, and was about to leave the house when a watch-dog, which Frank had just purchased, sprang upon him, and, seizing him by the coat-tails, shook him fiercely.

Mr. Craven disliked dogs, and was thoroughly frightened. He gave a loud shriek, and tried to escape, but the dog held on grimly.

"Help, help!" he shrieked, at the top of his voice.

Frank heard the cry from the house, and ran out.

At this juncture he managed to break away from the dog, and made a rush for the garden wall.

"Down, Pompey! Ain't you ashamed of yourself?" said Frank, sternly, seizing the dog by the collar.

"I am very sorry, Mr. Craven," he added.

Mr. Craven turned wild with rage, and his soft voice trembled as he said:

"Really, Frank, it is hardly fair to your visitors to keep such a fierce animal about."

"He didn't know you, sir. To-morrow I will make you acquainted, and then there will be no danger of this occurring again."

"I really hope not," said Craven, laughing rather discordantly.

"I hope he hasn't bitten you, sir."

"No, but he has torn my coat badly. However, it's of no consequence. Accidents will happen."

"He takes it very well," thought Frank, as Mr. Craven said good-night. But it was by a strong effort that his future step-father had done so.

"Curse the dog!" he said to himself, with suppressed passion. "After I am married and fairly settled down, I will shoot him. Thus I will spite the boy and revenge myself on the brute at the same time."