ld."

It seemed that, in addition to all his other eccentricities, "Old Man
Wheeler" had the habit of disappearing from his home at intervals, leaving
no clew behind him. He had attacks of a morbid unwillingness to see a
human face: during tkese attacks, he would hide himself, sometimes in one
place, sometimes in another. He had old warehouses, old deserted mills and
factories, and uninhabited rooms and houses in all the towns in the
vicinity. There was hardly any article of merchandise which he had not at
one time or another had a depot for, or a manufactory of. He had
especially a hobby for attempting to make articles which were not made in
this country. It was only necessary for some one to go to him, and say,
"Mr. Wheeler, do you know how much this country pays every year for
importing such or such an article?" to throw him into a rage.

"Damned nonsense! Damned nonsense, sir. Just as well make it here. I'll
make it myself." And up would start a new manufacture, just as soon as he
could get men to work at it.

At one time it was ink, at another time brushes, then chintz, and then
pocket-books; in fact, nobody pretended to remember all the schemes which
the old man had failed in. He would stop them as instantaneously as he
began them, dismiss the workmen, shut up the shops or the mills, turn the
key on them just as they stood, very possibly filled full of material in
the rough. He did not care. The hobby was over: he had proved that the
thing could be made in America, and he was content. It was usually in some
one of these disused buildings that he set up his hermitage in these
absences from home. He would sally out once a day and buy bread, just a
pittance, hardly enough to keep him alive, and then bury himself again in
darkness and solitude. If the absence did not last more than three or four
days, his wife and sons gave themselves no concern about him. He usually
returned a saner and healthier man than he went away. When the absences
were longer, they went in search of him, and could usually prevail on him
to return home with them. But this last absence had been much longer than
usual before they found him. He was as cunning and artful as a fugitive
from justice in concealing his haunt. At last he was discovered in the old
garret store-room over the Brick Row. The marvel was that he had not died
of cold there. He was not far from it, however; for he was so ill that at
times he was delirious. He lay curled up in t