to and fro, the wires pulsed with his imperious
anxiety. The manager of the steamboat company answered--denied. The
news was confirmed, all to the same end; and when Simeon Pratt rose
from his desk that night his jaw hung lax, his big form stooped and
shambled as though twenty additional years had suddenly been heaped
upon his shoulders. He went back to his splendid, lonely palace (where
the servants huddled and whispered and hastened) with a hard, dry knot
in his throat, and with eyes heavy and hot and tearless confronted his
ruined altar. From one to be feared he had fallen in a day to the most
desolate of beings.

Messengers pursued him. The bodies were recovered. He gave orders for
them to be shipped by the first boat. In the blaze of the electric
light, with horrid, staring eyes and stiffly moving lips, he cursed
himself and God. He cursed himself for letting his treasures go from
him, he cursed God for permitting such outrages upon justice. At last
he fell silent, but he did not sleep nor eat till the end of the
second day. Then he rose, took the 7.49 train as usual, and returned
to his desk--unshaved, with creased and crumpled clothing, a gray and
battered man, sustained by habit, seeking relief in work.

His associates, with forced cheerfulness, professed pleasure at his
return, carefully avoiding mention of his appalling loss. To those who
did speak of it he returned no word or glance. With fumbling, thick,
and nerveless fingers he took up the purple-lettered ribbon of his
trade. He fixed his dim eyes on market reports and dictated notes and
orders, but it was a poor show. Even those who hated him as a gross,
unlovely character were shocked at his shrunken form, his grayed and
grizzled cheek. When death deals a blow like that the defeated one
acquires a certain majesty.

Gradually the old man regained ability to compute and combine, and to
converse with his partners concerning the affairs of the house; but
his keen interest, his prompt decision of utterance, were all gone.
His presence in the office was the result of habit merely. In reality
he was waiting the return of the steamer which bore his precious clay.

This boat was delayed by storms, and for three days the broken
financier, unable to remain in his office, walked to and fro between
Broad Street and Bowling Green, haunting the office of the steamship
company until the bloodless manager, nervous and irritated, left his
chair to avoid him, unable to