urselves at all. I doubt whether you could ever find the
publishers of the paper."

"You are right," Brooks agreed.

"Character used to be regarded as something at least half way sacred,"
said Witherspoon, "but now, like an old plug hat, it is kicked about
the streets. And yet we boast of our freedom. Freedom, indeed! So
would it be freedom to sit at a window and shoot men as they pass. I
swear to God that I never had as much trouble and worry as I've had
lately. _Everything_ goes wrong. What about Jordway & Co., of Aurora?"

"Oh, I forgot to tell you," Brooks answered. "Jordway has killed
himself, and the affairs of the firm are in a hopeless tangle."

"Of coarse," Witherspoon replied, "and we'll never get a cent."

"I'm afraid not, sir. I cautioned you against them, you remember."

"Never saw anything like it," Witherspoon declared, not recalling the
caution that Brooks had advised, or not caring to acknowledge it.

"Oh, everything may come out all right. Pardon me, Mr. Witherspoon,
but I think you need rest"

"There is no rest," Witherspoon replied.

"And yet," said Henry, turning from the window, "you took me to task
for saying that I sometimes felt there was nothing in the entire
scheme of life."

"For saying it at your age, yes. You have but just begun to try life
and have no right to condemn it."

"I didn't condemn it without a hearing. Isn't there something wrong
when the poor are wretched and the rich are miserable?"

"Nonsense," said Witherspoon.

"Oh, but that's no argument."

"Isn't it? Well, then there shall be none."

"I must be getting back," said Brooks.

"Won't you stay to breakfast?" Witherspoon asked. "It will be ready in
a few minutes. Hum"--looking at his watch--"ought to have been ready
long ago. Everything goes wrong. Can't even get anything to eat. I'll
swear I never saw the like."

"I'm much obliged, but I can't stay," Brooks answered.

"Well, I suppose I shall be down to the store some time to-day. If
anybody calls to see me, just say that I am at home, standing round
begging for something to eat. Good morning."

Henry laughed, and the merchant gave him a strained look. For a moment
the millionaire bore a striking likeness to old Andrew, at the time
when he declared that the devil had gone wrong. The young man sought
to soothe him when Brooks was gone; he apologized for laughing; he
said that he keenly felt that there was cause for worry, but that the
picture of a Chicag