McBride’s was directly opposite on the corner of High Street and the Square; a mean two-story structure of frame, across the shabby front of which hung a shabby creaking sign bearing witness that within might be found:  “Archibald McBride, Hardware and Cutlery, Implements and Bar Iron.”  McBride had kept store on that corner time out of mind.

He was an austere unapproachable old man, having no relatives of whom any one knew; with few friends and fewer intimates; a rich man, according to the Mount Hope standard, and a miser according to the Mount Hope gossip, with the miser’s traditional suspicion of banks.  It was rumored that he had hidden away vast sums of money in his dingy store, or in the closely-shuttered rooms above, where the odds and ends of the merchandise in which he dealt had accumulated in rusty and neglected heaps.

The old man wore an air of mystery, and this air of mystery extended to his place of business.  It was dark and dirty and ill-kept.  On the brightest summer day the sunlight stole vaguely in through grimy cobwebbed windows.  The dust of years had settled deep on unused shelves and, in abandoned corners, and whole days were said to pass when no one but the ancient merchant himself entered the building.  Yet in spite of the trade that had gone elsewhere he had grown steadily richer year by year.

When North entered the store he found McBride busy with his books in his small back office, a lean black cat asleep on the desk at his elbow.

“Good afternoon, John!” said the old merchant as he turned from his high desk, removing as he did so a pair of heavy steel-rimmed spectacles, that dominated a high-bridged nose which in turn dominated a wrinkled and angular face.

“I thought I should find you here!” said North.

“You’ll always find me here of a week-day,” and he gave the young fellow the fleeting suggestion of a smile.  He had a liking for North, whose father, years before, had been one of the few friends he had made in Mount Hope.

The Norths had been among the town’s earliest settlers, John’s grandfather having taken his place among the pioneers when Mount Hope had little but its name to warrant its place on the map.  At his death Stephen, his only son, assumed the family headship, married, toiled, thrived and finished his course following his wife to the old burying-ground after a few lonely heart-breaking months, and leaving John without kin, near or far, but with a good name and fair riches.

“I have brought you those gas bonds, Mr. McBride,” said North, going at once to the purpose of his visit.

The old merchant nodded understandingly.

“I hope you can arrange to let me have the money for them to-day,” continued North.

“I think I can manage it, John.  Atkinson and Judge Langham’s boy, Marsh, were just here and left a bit of cash.  Maybe I can make up the sum.”  While he was speaking, he had gone to the safe which stood open in one corner of the small office.