All this Mr. Merrick shrewdly considered in the space of a few moments.  As he left the train he looked at his watch and found it was barely eleven.  He decided not to await the hour of appointment.  With his usual brisk stride he walked to Von Taer’s offices and was promptly admitted to the broker’s sanctum.

Hedrik Von Taer was a fine looking man, tall, grave, of dignified demeanor and courteous manners.  He stood until his visitor was seated and with a gesture of deference invited him to open the conversation.

“I’ve decided to make you the loan, Von Taer,” began Mr. Merrick, in his practical, matter-of-fact way.  “Three hundred thousand, wasn’t it?  Call on Major Doyle at my office this afternoon and he’ll arrange it for you.”

An expression of relief crossed the broker’s face.

“You are very kind, sir,” he answered.  “I assure you I fully appreciate the accommodation.”

“Glad to help you,” responded the millionaire, briskly.  Then he paused with marked abruptness.  It occurred to him he had a difficult proposition to make to this man.  To avoid the cold, enquiring eyes now fixed upon him he pulled out a cigar and deliberately cut the end.  Von Taer furnished him a match.  He smoked a while in silence.

“This loan, sir,” he finally began, “is freely made.  There are no strings tied to it.  I don’t want you to feel I’m demanding any sort of return.  But the truth is, you have it in your power to grant me a favor.”

Von Taer bowed.

“Mr. Merrick has generously placed me under an obligation it will afford me pleasure to repay,” said he.  But his eyes held an uneasy look, nevertheless.

“It’s this way,” explained the other:  “I’ve three nieces—­fine girls, Von Taer—­who will some day inherit my money.  They are already independent, financially, and they’re educated, well-bred and amiable young women.  Take my word for it.”

“I am sure your statements are justified, Mr. Merrick.”  Yet Hedrik Von Taer’s face, usually unexpressive, denoted blank mystification.  What connection could these girls have with the favor to be demanded?

“Got any girls yourself, Von Taer?”

“A daughter, sir.  My only child.

“Grown up?”

“A young lady now, sir.”

“Then you’ll understand.  I’m a plain uneducated man myself.  Never been any nearer swell society than a Fifth Avenue stage.  My money has given me commercial position, but no social one worth mentioning.  Your ‘400’s’ a bunch I can’t break into, nohow.”

A slight smile hovered over the other’s lips, but he quickly controlled it.

“They tell me, though,” continued the speaker, “that your family has long ago climbed into the top notch of society.  You’re one o’ the big guns in the battery, an’ hold the fort against all comers.”

Von Taer merely bowed.  It was scarcely necessary to either admit or contradict the statement.  Uncle John was a little indignant that his companion showed no disposition to assist him in his explanation, which a clear head might now easily comprehend.  So, with his usual frankness, he went directly to the point.