Oíd John Walsh was a banker, and alsoa money-lender. He was accounted a greedy, close-listed oíd ohap, jet he possessed a sort of grim, rigid humor, which, in some cases, was really funny. üneday a dashing, reckless young man of the period called upon him. "Mr. Walsh," said he, "I want to borrow flve hundred." "For how long?" "Sixmonths." "AïTiat security can you give me?" The young fellow.drew himself proudly ap. "My own personal security, sir," he replied, with a flourish. Oíd John turned and opened a stout, iron chest by his side. "Get in here, sir," said he. The young blade looked first at the chest and then at Walsh. "What for?" asked he. "Because here is where I always keep all of my personal securities."