The guise of Solon's subtlety, the touch of his iron hand in a glove of
softest velvet, had been in this wise: he had pointed out to the Colonel
that there were richer fields of endeavor to the west of us; newer,
larger towns, fitter abodes for a man of his parts; communities which
had honors and emoluments to lavish upon the worthy,--prizes which it
would doubtless never be in our poor power to bestow.

Potts was stirred by all this, but he was not blinded to certain
disadvantages,--"a stranger in a strange land," etc., while in Little
Arcady he had already "made himself known."

But, suggested Solon, with a ready wit, if the stranger were to go
fortified with certificates of character from the leading citizens of
his late home?

This was a thing to consider. Potts reflected more favorably; but still
he hesitated. He was unable to believe that these certificates of his
excellence might be obtained. The bar and the commercial element of
Little Arcady had been cold, not to say suspicious, toward him. It was
an unpleasant thing to mention, but a cabal had undeniably been formed.

Solon was politely incredulous. He pledged his word of honor as a
gentleman to provide the letters,--a laudatory, an uplifting letter,
from every citizen in town whose testimony would be of weight; also a
half-column of fit praise in the next issue of the _Argus_, twelve
copies of which Potts should freely carry off with him for judicious
scattering about the fortunate town in which his journey should end.

Then Potts spoke openly of the expenses of travel. Solon, royally
promising a purse of gold to take him on his way, clenched the winning