Walking slowly up Broadway is a person
probably about fifty-five, of medium height, inclining to be stout, who
carries his hands behind him as he proceeds thoughtfully along. His
dress is particularly neat. His hat, while it conceals an excessive
baldness, permits the escape of a quantity of light hair, quite unmixed
with gray, which fringes the back of the head. At a distance, his
complexion looks soft and fair; but, on closer observation, it has the
appearance of smooth leather. Occasionally he raises his face to regard
a building, as if he had a special interest in so doing; then one may
see a light-blue eye, clear and icy as a fine December day, having an
expression like a flint.
He walks on. Two young men are just passing him. One says to his
companion:
'Do you know who that is?'
'Which?'
'That old fellow right by your side.'
'No. Who is it?'
'That's Hiram Meeker.'
'You don't say so!'
He pauses, and lets the individual alluded to pass, that he may take a
good look at him.
'I would like to have some of his cash, anyhow. What do you suppose he
is worth?'
'Oh, there is no telling; he is variously estimated at from five to ten
millions, but nobody knows. Started without a penny, as clerk in a
ship-chandler's store.'
Yes, reader, that _is_ Hiram. [We shall continue our familiarity, and
call him, when we see fit, by his first name.] That is our old
acquaintance Hiram Meeker, who commenced at Hampton, with Benjamin
Jessup--Hiram Meeker of Burnsville, now the great Hiram Meeker of New
York.
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