he is like a different man—­appears to have forgotten completely all of the instructions he was so particular to give me.  Yesterday he said:  ’We will go over the books and papers very carefully, you and I, and see that every department is run as carefully and well as heretofore.  I should not like any one in the establishment to feel that my taking possession will mean any change for them—­save for the better.’

“To-day he is as different as night from day; he does not know what he wants; he seems all at sea over the simplest details which he ought to be decidedly familiar with.”  His musings were suddenly cut short by an immediate summons to return to the private office.

It was with some misgivings that he entered his employer’s presence the second time.

The bogus Mr. Armstrong was almost invisible from a cloud of smoke from a freshly lighted Havana.  He held the morning paper in his hand and was perusing its columns with apparent avidity.

“Wright!” he cried, excitedly, “how much ready money do you suppose there is in the safe of this shebang—–­hey?”

It took Mr. Wright almost a moment to recover his usual calm dignity and make answer: 

“Five thousand in cash, and there are negotiable notes amounting to upward of forty thousand more.”

“Are you sure of that?” queried Kendale, his excitement growing keener; “how do you know?”

“You placed bills in my hands a few moments since which necessitated conferring with Mr. Conway, the cashier, about meeting them.”

“Well, hold on—­don’t pay out any bills to-day; I want to make use of that money—­two great opportunities here.  Say!” he added in the next breath, “do you know anything about sailing yachts and trotters?”

The question fairly staggered Mr. Wright, but he answered promptly: 

“Nothing whatever, Mr. Armstrong.  I have never taken any interest in them; it would be out of place for a man in my position to cultivate a taste for that which is so far beyond his means.  I am glad to be able to say to you, sir, that my tastes are simple and my wants few.  I have never been on board a yacht, nor have I ever ridden behind what you call a trotter.”

“Then you’ve missed a deal of sport,” declared Kendale.  “But that isn’t what I sent for you to discuss.  What I meant to say is that there’s a fellow from Newport gone all to smash.  His fine yacht, the Daisy Bell, is to be sold at auction to-day, likewise the contents of his stables.  There are two of his animals that are flyers—­the Lady Albia and Sterling.  Why, the Lady has a record better than 2.05 1-2, open gaited, warranted sound, both of ’em, and no end of traps, tea carts, and buggies.  I tell you what, Wright, I must have that yacht and that team.  You must go and bid them in for me—­get ’em at any price, if you have to run it up to a hundred thousand, and you can even do a little better than that rather than see some other lucky fellow get ’em.”