Mr. Frank Tracy, who, since his election to the State Legislature for
two successive terms, had done nothing except to attend political
meetings and make speeches on all public occasions, had an office in
town, where he usually spent his mornings, smoking, reading the papers
and talking to Mr. Colvin, his business agent and lawyer, for, though
born in one of the humblest of New England houses, where the slanting
roof almost touched the ground in the rear, and he could scarcely stand
upright in the chamber where he slept, Mr. Frank Tracy was a great man
now, and as he dashed along the turnpike behind his blooded bays, with
his driver beside him, people looked admiringly after him, and pointed
him out to strangers as the Hon. Mr. Tracy, of Tracy Park, one of the
finest places in the county. It is true it did not belong to him, but he
had lived there so long that he had come to look upon it as his, while
his neighbors, too, seemed to have forgotten that there was across the
ocean a Mr. Arthur Tracy, who might at any time come home to claim his
own, and demand an account of his brother's stewardship. And it was
this very Arthur Tracy, whose telegram announcing his return from Europe
was read by his brother with mingled feelings of surprise and
consternation.

'Not that everything isn't fair and above-board, and he is welcome to
look into matters as much as he likes,' Frank said over and over to
himself, as he sat stating blankly at the telegram, while the cold
chills ran up and down his back and arms. 'Yes, he can examine all
Colvin's books and he will find them straight as a string, for didn't he
tell me to use what I needed as remuneration for looking after his
property while he was gallivanting over the world; and if he objects
that I have paid myself too much, why, I can at once transfer those
investments in my name to him. No, it is not that which affects me so,