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THE WRECK OF THE "FLYING SCUD.".
The next morning I found Pinkerton, who had risen before me, seated at our usual table, and deep in the perusal of what I will call the _Daily Occidental_.

This was a paper (I know not if it be so still) that stood out alone among its brethren in the West; the others, down to their smallest item, were defaced with capitals, head-lines, alliterations, swaggering misquotations, and the shoddy picturesque and unpathetic pathos of the Harry Millers: the _Occidental_ alone appeared to be written by a dull, sane, Christian gentleman, singly desirous of communicating knowledge.

It had not only this merit, which endeared it to me, but was admittedly the best informed on business matters, which attracted Pinkerton.
"Loudon," said he, looking up from the journal, "you sometimes think I have too many irons in the fire.

My notion, on the other hand, is, when you see a dollar lying, pick it up! Well, here I've tumbled over a whole pile of 'em on a reef in the middle of the Pacific." "Why, Jim, you miserable fellow!" I exclaimed; "haven't we Depew City, one of God's green centres for this State?
haven't we----" "Just listen to this," interrupted Jim.