now you are. Here, we'll put them away. But first there's
something really dreadful I've got to tell you."

"Dreadful, Sally?"

"Yes, but it isn't about us. Do you know, I honestly believe that Jessy
intends to marry Mr. Cottrel."

"What? That old rocking-horse? Why, he's a Methusalah, and knock-kneed
into the bargain."

"It doesn't matter. Nothing matters to her except clothes. I've heard of
women who sold themselves for clothes, and I believe she's one of them."

"Well, we're an eccentric family," I said wearily, "and she's the
worst."

At any other time the news would probably have excited my indignation,
but as I sat there, in the wicker rocking-chair, by the nursery fire, I
was too exhausted to resent any manifestation of the family spirit. The
last week had been a terrible strain, and there were months ahead which
I knew would demand the exercise of every particle of energy that I
possessed. In the afternoon there was to be a meeting of the directors
of the bank, called to discuss the advancing of further loans to the
Cumberland and Tidewater Railroad, and at eight o'clock I had promised
to work for several hours with Bradley, my secretary. To go slowly now
was impossible. My only hope was that by going fast enough I might
manage to save what remained of the situation.

As the winter passed I went earlier to my office and came up later.
Failure succeeded failure in Wall Street, and the whole country began
presently to send back echoes of the prolonged crash. The Cumberland and
Tidewater Railroad, to which we had refused a further loan, went into
the hands of a receiver, and the Great South Midland and Atlantic
immediately bought up the remnants at its own price. The General, who
had been jubilant about the purchase, relapsed into melancholy a week
later over the loss of "a good third" of his personal income.

"I'm an old fool or I'd have stopped dabbling in speculations and put
away a nest-egg for my old age," he remarked, wiping his empurpled lids
on his silk handkerchief. "No man over fifty ought to be trusted to
gamble in stocks. Thank God, I'm the one to suffer, however, and not the
road. If there's a more solid road in the country, Ben, than the South
Midland, I've got to hear of it. It's big, but it's growing--swallowing
up everything that comes in its way, like a regular boa constrictor.
Think what it was when I came into it immediately after the war; and
to-day it's one of the few roads that is st