"He is a man of the first standing in New York. No name, in money circles, bears a higher reputation."
Brainard slightly shrugged his shoulders.
"The common estimate of a man, in any community, is apt to be very near the truth," said Mr. Markland.
"Generally speaking, this is so," was replied. "But every now and then the public mind is startled by exceptions to the rule—and these exceptions have been rather frequent; of late years. As for Fenwick, he stands fair enough, in a general way. If he were to send me an order for five thousand dollars' worth of goods, I would sell him, were I a merchant, without hesitation. But to embark with him in a scheme of so much magnitude is another thing altogether, and I wonder at myself, now, that I was induced to consider the matter at all. Since my withdrawal, and cooler thought on the subject, I congratulate myself, daily, on the escape I have made."
"Escape! From what!" Mr. Markland looked surprised.
"From loss; it may be, ruin."
"You would hardly call the loss of twenty thousand dollars, ruin."
"Do you expect to get off with an investment of only twenty thousand dollars?" asked Mr. Brainard.
"No; for I have agreed to put in forty thousand."
Brainard shook his head ominously, and looked very grave.