ed himself on making no mistakes in business. He closed the book
again with a look of relief, the smile coming back once more to his
face. The 18th, it was three days additional, and in the time there was
no doubt that he would find out what was the right thing to do.

CHAPTER XXXV.

THE MILLIONNAIRE.

When Mr. May woke next morning, it was not the book-case he thought of,
but that date which had been the last thing in his mind on the previous
night. Not the 15th,--the 18th. Certainly he was right, and Cotsdean was
wrong. Cotsdean was a puzzle-headed being, making his calculations by
the rule of thumb; but he had put down the date, and there could be no
possible mistake about it. He got up disposed to smile at the poor man's
ignorance and fussy restlessness of mind. "I have never left him in the
lurch, he may trust to me surely in the future," Mr. May said to
himself, and smiled with a kind of condescending pity for his poor
agent's timidity; after all, perhaps, as Cotsdean had so little profit
by it, it was not wonderful that he should be uneasy. After this, it
might be well if they did anything further of the sort, to divide the
money, so that Cotsdean too might feel that he had got something for the
risk he ran; but then, to be sure, if he had not the money he had no
trouble, except by his own foolish anxiety, for the payment, and always
a five-pound note or two for his pains. But Mr. May said to himself that
he would do no more in this way after the present bill was disposed of;
no, he would make a stand, he would insist upon living within his
income. He would not allow himself to be subject to these perpetual
agitations any more. It would require an effort, but after the effort
was made all would be easy. So he said to himself; and it was the 18th,
not the 15th, three days more to make his arrangements in. It had come
to be the 12th now, and up to this moment he had done nothing, having
that vague faith in the Indian mail which had been realized, and yet had
not been realized. But still he had nearly a week before him, which was
enough certainly. Anything that he could do in six months, he said to
himself, he could easily do in six days--the mere time was nothing; and
he smiled as he dressed himself leisurely, thinking it all over. Somehow
everything looked perfectly easy to him this time; last time he had been
plunged into tragic despair; now, and he did not know why, he took it
quite easily; he seemed t