“All fair, you know.  Bargain is a bargain.  They must sell; we won’t buy, without we buy cheap; their loss, to be sure, but our gain.  All trade on the same plan.  Seller gets the most he can; buyer pays only what he must.”

“That’s it,” said Fletcher.  “Every man for himself in this world.”

“Well, good morning, young man.  Sharp’s the word.  Call at my office this afternoon.”  And, with a queer sweep of the pointed eyebrow, he departed.

What visions of opulence rose before Fletcher’s fancy!  He would now lay the foundations of his fortune, and, perhaps, accomplish it.  He would become a power in State Street; and, best of all, he would escape from his slavery to Sandford, and perhaps even patronize the haughty man he had so long served.  How to begin?  He could not attend the sales at the Brokers’ Board in person, as he was not a member.  Should he confide in Danforth?  No,—­for, with his relations to the house, his own share in the profits would be whittled down.  He determined to employ Tonsor, an old acquaintance, who would be glad to buy and sell for the regular commissions.  The preliminaries were speedily concluded, and a list of stocks made out on which to operate.  The excitement was almost too great for Fletcher to bear.  As he counted the piles of bank-bills on his employers’ counter, or stacked up heaps of coin, in his ordinary business, he fancied himself another Ali Baba, in a cave to which he had found the Open Sesame, and he could hardly contain himself till the time should come when he should take possession of his unimaginable wealth.  He had built air-castles before, but never one so magnificent, so real.  He could have hugged Bullion, bear as he was.—­We leave Fletcher and his principal on the high road to success.

CHAPTER X.

THE SIREN COMES TO THE SEA-SHORE.

Greenleaf worked assiduously upon his landscapes, and, notwithstanding the pressure in the money-market, was fortunate enough to dispose of them to gentlemen whose incomes were not affected by the vicissitudes of business.  For this he was principally indebted to Sandford, who took pains to bring his works to the notice of connoisseurs.  But, with all his success, the object of his ambition was as far off as at first.  Imperceptibly he had acquired expensive habits.  He was not prodigal, not extravagant; but, having a keen sense of the beautiful, he gradually became more fastidious in dress, and in all those nameless elegancies which seem of right to belong to the accomplished man, as to the gentleman in easy circumstances.  This desire for ease and luxury did not conflict with simplicity; he seemed born for all the enjoyment which the most cultivated society could bestow.  He had the power to spend the income of a fortune worthily; unhappily, he did not have it to spend.  He had written constantly to his betrothed, and when he told her of the prices he had received for his pictures,