a salutation which was half charity
school-boy, half awkward recruit. Beyond this there was no ceremony
about his entrance, no leave asked or question made. Betsy knew very
well that he was to come in when he pleased, and that her master did not
deny himself to Cotsdean. Mr. May received him with a familiar nod, and
pointed hastily to a chair. He did not even take the trouble to put away
those blue papers, which he would have done if any other individual,
even if one of his children had come into the room.

"Good evening, Cotsdean," he said, in a friendly tone. "Well, what
news?"

"Nothing as is pleasant, sir," said the man, sitting down on a corner of
his chair. "I've been to the bank, and it's no use my explaining, or
begging ever so hard. They won't hear of it. 'We've done it times and
times,' they says to me, 'and we won't do it no more. That's flat,' and
so indeed it is flat, sir, as you may say downright Dunstable; but that
ain't no advantage to you and me."

"Yes, it is, Cotsdean," said the clergyman, "it is a decided advantage,
for it shows there is nothing to be hoped from that quarter, and that is
always good--even though it's bad bad, as bad as can be--"

"You may say so, sir," said Cotsdean. "I don't know what's to be done no
more than the babe unborn, and it's wearing me to death, that's what
it's doing. When I looks round on my small family, it's all I can do not
to cry out loud. What's to become of my children, Mr. May? Yours, sir,
they'll never want friends, and a hundred or so here or there, that
don't ruin gentlefolks; but without selling up the business, how am I
ever to get a hundred pounds? It ain't equal, sir, I swear it ain't. You
gets the money, and you takes it easy, and don't hold your head not a
bit lower; but me as has no good of it (except in the way o' a bit of
custom that is a deal more in looks than anything else), and has to go
round to all the folks, to Mr. Brownlow, at the bank, and I don't know
who, as if it was for me! I suffers in my credit, sir, and I suffers in
my spirits, and I suffers in my health; and when the smash comes,
what's to become of my poor children? It's enough to put a man beside
himself, that's what it is."

Here the poor man's eyes grew bloodshot, partly with rubbing them,
partly with tears. He rubbed them with the sleeve of his rough coat, and
the tears were very real, though few in number. Cotsdean's despair was
indeed tragical enough, but its outside had