The Financier | Page 8

quiet and reserved household.
"Why, Nancy Arabella," he said to Mrs Cowperwood on arriving one Sunday afternoon,
and throwing the household into joyous astonishment at his unexpected and unheralded
appearance, "you haven't grown an inch! I thought when you married old brother Hy here
that you were going to fatten up like your brother. But look at you! I swear to Heaven
you don't weigh five pounds." And he jounced her up and down by the waist, much to the
perturbation of the children, who had never before seen their mother so familiarly
handled.
Henry Cowperwood was exceedingly interested in and pleased at the arrival of this rather
prosperous relative; for twelve years before, when he was married, Seneca Davis had not
taken much notice of him.
"Look at these little putty-faced Philadelphians," he continued, "They ought to come
down to my ranch in Cuba and get tanned up. That would take away this waxy look."
And he pinched the cheek of Anna Adelaide, now five years old. "I tell you, Henry, you
have a rather nice place here." And he looked at the main room of the rather conventional
three-story house with a critical eye.
Measuring twenty by twenty-four and finished in imitation cherry, with a set of new
Sheraton parlor furniture it presented a quaintly harmonious aspect. Since Henry had
become teller the family had acquired a piano--a decided luxury in those days-- brought
from Europe; and it was intended that Anna Adelaide, when she was old enough, should
learn to play. There were a few uncommon ornaments in the room--a gas chandelier for
one thing, a glass bowl with goldfish in it, some rare and highly polished shells, and a
marble Cupid bearing a basket of flowers. It was summer time, the windows were open,
and the trees outside, with their widely extended green branches, were pleasantly visible

shading the brick sidewalk. Uncle Seneca strolled out into the back yard.
"Well, this is pleasant enough," he observed, noting a large elm and seeing that the yard
was partially paved with brick and enclosed within brick walls, up the sides of which
vines were climbing. "Where's your hammock? Don't you string a hammock here in
summer? Down on my veranda at San Pedro I have six or seven."
"We hadn't thought of putting one up because of the neighbors, but it would be nice,"
agreed Mrs. Cowperwood. "Henry will have to get one."
"I have two or three in my trunks over at the hotel. My niggers make 'em down there. I'll
send Manuel over with them in the morning."
He plucked at the vines, tweaked Edward's ear, told Joseph, the second boy, he would
bring him an Indian tomahawk, and went back into the house.
"This is the lad that interests me," he said, after a time, laying a hand on the shoulder of
Frank. "What did you name him in full, Henry?"
"Frank Algernon."
"Well, you might have named him after me. There's something to this boy. How would
you like to come down to Cuba and be a planter, my boy?"
"I'm not so sure that I'd like to," replied the eldest.
"Well, that's straight-spoken. What have you against it?"
"Nothing, except that I don't know anything about it."
"What do you know?"
The boy smiled wisely. "Not very much, I guess."
"Well, what are you interested in?"
"Money!"
"Aha! What's bred in the bone, eh? Get something of that from your father, eh? Well,
that's a good trait. And spoken like a man, too! We'll hear more about that later. Nancy,
you're breeding a financier here, I think. He talks like one."
He looked at Frank carefully now. There was real force in that sturdy young body--no
doubt of it. Those large, clear gray eyes were full of intelligence. They indicated much
and revealed nothing.
"A smart boy!" he said to Henry, his brother-in-law. "I like his get-up. You have a bright
family."

Henry Cowperwood smiled dryly. This man, if he liked Frank, might do much for the boy.
He might eventually leave him some of his fortune. He was wealthy and single.
Uncle Seneca became a frequent visitor to the house--he and his negro body-guard,
Manuel, who spoke both English and Spanish, much to the astonishment of the children;
and he took an increasing interest in Frank.
"When that boy gets old enough to find out what he wants to do, I think I'll help him to
do it," he observed to his sister one day; and she told him she was very grateful. He
talked to Frank about his studies, and found that he cared little for books or most of the
study he was compelled to pursue. Grammar was an abomination. Literature silly. Latin
was of no use. History--well, it was fairly interesting.