THE FINANCIER
the munificent sum of thirty-five hundred dollars a year,
and he decided, as he told his
joyously the night he
heard it, that he, or they, rather, would now move from
Number 21 Buttonwood Street to Number 124 New
Market, where there was a nice brick house of three stones
in height, as opposed to the one of two stories which they
now occupied. Buttonwood Street, at the point which
they were now located, was rapidly being surrounded by
business conditions which were unbearable; and New
Market at the point he had picked on was removed, at
least a score of blocks, from the region which was once
so nice but was now becoming so sorrowfully defiled.
There was the probability that some day they would come
into something even much better than this, but for the
present this was sufficient. He was exceedingly grateful.
Mr. Henry Worthington Cowperwood was at this
time a significant figure—tall, lean, inquisitorial, clerkly,
the pink of perfection in the niceties of commercial con-
duct, absolutely practical — a man who believed only
what he saw, was not at all disturbed about those silly
fancies which might trouble the less rational brains of
this world, and content to be what he was—a banker,
or prospective one. He looked upon life as a business
situation or deal, with everybody born as more or less
capable machines to take a part in it. It was surprising
to him to see how many incapable or unsatisfactory
machines there were; but, thank heaven, now that he
was getting along fairly well, this was no affair of his.
At first, when he was much younger—he was now thirty-
six—life had seemed just a little unsatisfactorily organized.
But now—well now it didn't look so bad. He had nice,
smooth, closely cropped side-whiskers coming to almost
the lower lobe of his ears, and his upper lip was smooth
and curiously long. He had a straight nose of a some-
what longish length and a chin that tended to be pointed.
His manner might have been called severe, though really
it was more of a cultivated manner than anything else.
2