bound to believe him; he had before heard some wild talk of Mr. Saltasche's acquaintance with the great ones of this earth, but had paid but scant attention to it.

Why did he not, you say, Mr. Hogan? Well, my dear sir, princesses are princesses; but to plain business men they are

some

I

thing more they are white elephants. would not like a white elephant: should you, Mr. Hogan? Ah!"

The barrister laughed. "I must be away
Mr. Saltasche wrote.

to my work.

to

you, did he not? And I have to settle for the shares-the number I mean to take. What are they to-day-the Patagonians, I mean?"

Patagonians-whew!" whew!" said Mr. Stier, raising his eyebrows in pleased surprise. "Bruen, where is that list?" His partner looked at the quotation as he handed it, and then fixed his keen black eyes on Hogan.

"Ten-ten shillings: nearly the price of the paper-ah!"

Two hundred was the number he had originally intended to take, but some greed

suddenly seized upon him; he wanted to grasp with both hands.

"I will take two hundred.

Stay-make it

four," he added hastily: "that will be the full amount of this cheque, two hundred pounds." He handed a cheque for that amount, signed by Lord Brayhead, to Mr. Stier, who, with his mouth drawn up as if he was going to whistle, nodded his head as he looked at the writing.

Now look,

"That is right,-quite right. Mr. Hogan, will you touch these?" And he handed over a sheet of papers, blue, pink, and green; lithographed chiefly, and highly decorated and got up. Hogan glanced at them, then at Mr. Stier, who was sitting up in a high desk smiling amiably over his spectacles, and looking like nothing but a great yellow cat.

"Well, not to-day, thank you, Mr. Stier."

"Ah! I wish you would take some of those, Mr. Hogan. I wish you would, indeed. You see, everything Mr. Saltasche touches, it turns into gold."

"Luckily for Mr. Saltasche. I didn't know he had the gift of Midas." Hogan thought to

himself that his friend's gift lay rather in his skill in watching other people's alchemy, and stepping in just at the moment the transformation began to work, and before the anxious operators became aware of it themselves.

Mr. Stier had never heard of Midas.

"He has gifts; yes, he has many gifts. But then, he is over-bold; sails very close to the wind sometimes, and sometimes he misses great coups,-ah, great coups" (pronounced "goups").

"Now, Mr. Hogan, we shall see you cften in the City; is it not so? We shall work much together. Some new companies, directorships-ah, yes. This railroad, Bruen; Lord Brayhead's railway. You know the ground."

Then Mr. Bruen came forward, and Hɔgan was made to relate in a very short time all that he knew of the projected railway: the line of the country, the distance from the coast railway, the population of the district it was to traverse. Mr. Bruen asked questions very rapidly indeed, and his keen eyes seemed almost to anticipate the answers. Hogan found they knew everything about the Parliamentary

business, and their object in questioning him was to see what chance of ultimate success the railway as a bona-fide venture might have. Mr. Stier uttered a great many "ah's" during the process; but from neither of the gentlemen could Hogan in the least divine his real opinion.

When the great subject of the newspaper was mooted, Mr. Bruen knew just the man to manage the business. His antecedents were not satisfactory; he had been dismissed from some half-dozen offices for every fault save incompetence. It would never do to have this man's name appear, so Hogan agreed to be nominal editor; and the City article was to be written in Stier and Bruen's offices, under the supervision of those gentlemen. The City article, as it was nominally called, was in reality the leader. A wellwritten, spicy-political or Parliamentary, according to the season-essay certainly filled the first column or two. Then came the résumé of the financial operations of the day, the heads of which were collected, and handed to Hogan, who rough-hewed them into shape, and submitted the crude sketch to the real editor for the final touching-up. This finan

cial article, which was ostensibly devoted to exposing the snares of the "long firms" and bubble companies with which the City swarms, was a perfect study of art. Saltasche and Co. were adepts in the science of throwing water on drowning rats. Peruvian Mines, Tammany Rings, Panama canals, and hoc genus omne were slashed with a bitterness and personality that never failed to attract readers. A sort of record was kept of the antecedents of prominent operators; and at a critical moment this dossier would be published and sent broadcast over the country. The effect on the public may be imagined. Of course the beautifully pure and disinterested motives of the Beacon were plain on the face of it. Cato, the censor, was a schoolboy compared to Saltasche, whose diatribes against manipulators were as edifying as any pulpit oracle. How the information was obtained, where the queer stories came from, nobody knew. The expenses of the Beacon were very large; for in spite of a good circulation and plenty of advertisements, the returns were little more than the outlay. It was a peculiar style of paper altogether, and rather a novelty in British journalism.