CHAPTER XXIII.
A CATASTROPHE.
"All the latest magazines and papers! Harper's, Frank Leslie's, the New York Weekly!"
Of course the speaker was Paul, and he was making his rounds on the succeeding day in the Milwaukee train.
"Come here, my boy. Let me see what you have got."
The speaker was an elderly gentleman, with gray hair and beard, tall and portly. His handsome suit of the finest broadcloth, the solid gold chain, as thick almost as a cable, that spanned his waistcoat, and his general air, indicated prosperity and wealth.
Paul recognized him as a frequent traveler on his train. He even knew his name, and was aware that he was a substantial Chicago manufacturer, who had a branch establishment at Milwaukee.
The name of Alexander Bradford was well known in business circles, and his name was at any time good at the bank where he dealt for a hundred thousand dollars, while the sum of his wealth was generally estimated at considerably over a million.
"Certainly, Mr. Bradford," answered Paul, politely, as he approached the rich man with alacrity.
"Ha, you know my name," said Mr. Bradford.