“No, sir.  You don’t catch me hunting up the widows of broken merchants.  Let them go to their own friends.  I’d soon have plenty of rather unprofitable business on my hands, if I were to engage in affairs of this kind.”

“I hardly think it will pay to talk with you on this subject any longer,” said Mr. Smith.

“I’m just of your opinion,” was the laughing answer, “unless I can induce you to let Mrs. Lloyd remain in ignorance of your benevolent intentions, and mind your own concerns, like a sensible man.”

“Good morning,” said Mr. Smith.

“Good morning,” replied Jones; “in a week or two I shall expect to hear your report on this widow-hunting expedition.”

“It will pay, I reckon,” said Mr. Smith, as he passed from the store.

“Pay,” muttered Jones, a sneer now curling his lip, “he’ll have to pay, and roundly, too, unless more fortunate than he deserves to be.”

A little while after the departure of Mr. Smith, a sallow, sharp-featured man, with a restless eye, entered the store of Mr. Jones.

“Ah, Perkins!” said the latter, familiarly, “any thing afloat to-day?”

“Well, yes, there is; I know of one operation that is worth looking at.”

“Will it pay, friend Perkins?  That’s the touchstone with me.  Show me any thing that will pay, and I’m your man for a trade.”

“I can get you fifty shares of Riverland Railroad stock, at eighty-two!”

“Can you?” The face of Jones brightened.

“I can.”

“All right.  I’ll take it.”

“Give me your note at sixty days, and I’ll have the shares transferred at once.”

In five minutes from the time Perkins entered the store of Mr. Jones, he left with the merchant’s note for over four thousand dollars in his hand.  The shares in the Riverland Railroad had been steadily advancing for some months, and Mr. Jones entertained not the shadow of a doubt that in a very short period they would be up to par.  He had already purchased freely, and at prices beyond eighty-two dollars.  The speculation he regarded as entirely safe, and one that would “pay” handsomely.

“I think that will pay a good deal better than hunting up the poor widows of insolvent merchants,” said Mr. Jones to himself, as he walked the length of his store once or twice, rubbing his hands every now and then with irrepressible glee.  “If I’d been led off by Smith on that fool’s errand, just see what I would have lost.  Operations like that don’t go a begging long.  But this gentleman knows in what quarter his interest lies.”

Not long after the departure of Perkins, a small wholesale dealer, named Armor, came into the store of Mr. Jones.

“I have several lots that I am anxious to close out this morning,” said he.  “Can I do any thing here?”

“What have you?” asked Mr. Jones.

“Ten boxes of tobacco, fifty prime hams, ten boxes Havana cigars, some rice, &c.”