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This eBook from the Gutenberg Project consists of approximately 113 pages of information about A Man of Mark.

I found Whittingham a pleasant little city of about five thousand inhabitants, picturesquely situated on a fine bay, at the spot where the river Marcus debouched into the ocean.  The town was largely composed of Government buildings and hotels, but there was a street of shops of no mean order, and a handsome square, called the “Piazza 1871,” embellished with an equestrian statue of the President.  Round about this national monument were a large number of seats, and, hard by, a cafe and band stand.  Here, I soon found, was the center of life in the afternoons and evenings.  Going along a fine avenue of trees for half a mile or so, you came to the “Golden House,” the President’s official residence, an imposing villa of white stone with a gilt statue of Aureataland, a female figure sitting on a plowshare, and holding a sword in the right hand, and a cornucopia in the left.  By her feet lay what was apparently a badly planed cannon ball; this, I learned, was a nugget, and from its presence and the name of the palace, I gathered that the president had once hoped to base the prosperity of his young republic on the solid foundation of mineral wealth.  This hope had been long abandoned.

I have always hated hotels, so I lost no time in looking round for lodgings suitable to my means, and was fortunate enough to obtain a couple of rooms in the house occupied by a Catholic priest, Father Jacques Bonchretien.  He was a very good fellow, and, though we did not become intimate, I could always rely on his courtesy and friendly services.  Here I lived in great comfort at an expense of fifty dollars a month, and I soon found that my spare fifty made me a well-to-do man in Whittingham.  Accordingly I had the entree of all the best houses, including the Golden House, and a very pleasant little society we had; occasional dances, frequent dinners, and plenty of lawn tennis and billiards prevented me feeling the tedium I had somewhat feared, and the young ladies of Whittingham did their best to solace my exile.  As for business, I found the bank doing a small business, but a tolerably satisfactory one, and, if we made some bad debts, we got high interest on the good ones, so that, one way or another, I managed to send home pretty satisfactory reports, and time passed on quietly enough in spite of certain manifestations of discontent among the population.  These disturbing phenomena were first brought prominently to my notice at the time when I became involved in the fortunes of the Aureataland national debt, and as all my story turns on this incident, it perhaps is a fit subject for a new chapter.

CHAPTER II.

A financial expedient.

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