Mr Brogley himself was a moist-eyed, pink-complexioned, crisp-haired
man, of a bulky figure and an easy temper--for that class of Caius
Marius who sits upon the ruins of other people's Carthages, can keep up
his spirits well enough. He had looked in at Solomon's shop sometimes,
to ask a question about articles in Solomon's way of business; and
Walter knew him sufficiently to give him good day when they met in the
street. But as that was the extent of the broker's acquaintance with
Solomon Gills also, Walter was not a little surprised when he came back
in the course of the forenoon, agreeably to his promise, to find Mr
Brogley sitting in the back parlour with his hands in his pockets, and
his hat hanging up behind the door.

'Well, Uncle Sol!' said Walter. The old man was sitting ruefully on the
opposite side of the table, with his spectacles over his eyes, for a
wonder, instead of on his forehead. 'How are you now?'

Solomon shook his head, and waved one hand towards the broker, as
introducing him.

'Is there anything the matter?' asked Walter, with a catching in his
breath.

'No, no. There's nothing the matter, said Mr Brogley. 'Don't let it put
you out of the way.' Walter looked from the broker to his Uncle in mute
amazement. 'The fact is,' said Mr Brogley, 'there's a little payment
on a bond debt--three hundred and seventy odd, overdue: and I'm in
possession.'

'In possession!' cried Walter, looking round at the shop.

'Ah!' said Mr Brogley, in confidential assent, and nodding his head
as if he would urge the advisability of their all being comfortable
together. 'It's an execution. That's what it is. Don't let it put you
out of the way. I come myself, because of keeping it quiet and sociable.
You know me. It's quite private.'

'Uncle Sol!' faltered Walter.

'Wally, my boy,' returned his uncle. 'It's the first time. Such a
calamity never happened to me before. I'm an old man to begin.' Pushing
up his spectacles again (for they were useless any longer to conceal his
emotion), he covered his face with his hand, and sobbed aloud, and his
tears fell down upon his coffee-coloured waistcoat.

'Uncle Sol! Pray! oh don't!' exclaimed Walter, who really felt a thrill
of terror in seeing the old man weep. 'For God's sake don't do that. Mr
Brogley, what shall I do?'

'I should recommend you looking up a friend or so,' said Mr Brogley,
'and talking it over.'

'To be sure!' cried Walter, catching at anything. 'Certain