This offer of Uncle Seneca to get him in with Waterman & Company seemed to Frank just the thing to start him off right.  So he reported to that organization at 74 South Second Street one day in June, and was cordially received by Mr. Henry Waterman, Sr.  There was, he soon learned, a Henry Waterman, Jr., a young man of twenty-five, and a George Waterman, a brother, aged fifty, who was the confidential inside man.  Henry Waterman, Sr., a man of fifty-five years of age, was the general head of the organization, inside and out—­traveling about the nearby territory to see customers when that was necessary, coming into final counsel in cases where his brother could not adjust matters, suggesting and advising new ventures which his associates and hirelings carried out.  He was, to look at, a phlegmatic type of man—­short, stout, wrinkled about the eyes, rather protuberant as to stomach, red-necked, red-faced, the least bit popeyed, but shrewd, kindly, good-natured, and witty.  He had, because of his naturally common-sense ideas and rather pleasing disposition built up a sound and successful business here.  He was getting strong in years and would gladly have welcomed the hearty cooperation of his son, if the latter had been entirely suited to the business.

He was not, however.  Not as democratic, as quick-witted, or as pleased with the work in hand as was his father, the business actually offended him.  And if the trade had been left to his care, it would have rapidly disappeared.  His father foresaw this, was grieved, and was hoping some young man would eventually appear who would be interested in the business, handle it in the same spirit in which it had been handled, and who would not crowd his son out.

Then came young Cowperwood, spoken of to him by Seneca Davis.  He looked him over critically.  Yes, this boy might do, he thought.  There was something easy and sufficient about him.  He did not appear to be in the least flustered or disturbed.  He knew how to keep books, he said, though he knew nothing of the details of the grain and commission business.  It was interesting to him.  He would like to try it.

“I like that fellow,” Henry Waterman confided to his brother the moment Frank had gone with instructions to report the following morning.  “There’s something to him.  He’s the cleanest, briskest, most alive thing that’s walked in here in many a day.”

“Yes,” said George, a much leaner and slightly taller man, with dark, blurry, reflective eyes and a thin, largely vanished growth of brownish-black hair which contrasted strangely with the egg-shaped whiteness of his bald head.  “Yes, he’s a nice young man.  It’s a wonder his father don’t take him in his bank.”

“Well, he may not be able to,” said his brother.  “He’s only the cashier there.”

“That’s right.”

“Well, we’ll give him a trial.  I bet anything he makes good.  He’s a likely-looking youth.”