er violence;
he turned away to leave McBride and the old man followed him a ways down
the store, explaining why they couldn't do business."

Gilmore paused. His cigar had gone out; now he struck a match, but he
did not take his eyes from Langham's face. He did not speak at once even
when his cigar was lighted.

Great beads of perspiration stood thick on Langham's brow, his hair was
damp and clammy. He was living that unspeakable moment over again, with
all its madness and horror. He saw himself as he had walked scowling
toward the front of the store; he had paused irresolutely with his hand
on the door-knob and then had turned back. The old merchant was standing
close by the scales, a tall gaunt figure in the waning light of day.

"Why do you tell me you can't do it?" he had demanded with dull anger.
"You have the money, I know that!"

"I didn't tell you I couldn't do it, Mr. Langham, I merely intimated
that I wouldn't," the old man had rejoined dryly.

"You have the money in your safe!"

"What if I have? It's mine to do with as I think proper."

"A larger sum than I want--than I need!"

"Quite likely."

A furious gust of passion had laid hold of him, the consciousness of his
necessity, all-compelling and relentless, swept through his brain. Money
he must have!--his success, his happiness, everything depended on it,
and what could money mean to this feeble old man whose days were almost
spent?

"I want you to let me have two thousand dollars!" he had insisted, as he
placed his hand on the old merchant's shoulder. "Get it for me; I swear
I'll pay it back. I'll give you such security as I can--my note--"

McBride had laughed dryly at this, and he turned on his heel as though
to reenter the office. Langham shot a quick glance about him; the store
was empty, the street before it deserted; he saw through the dingy
windows the swirling scarfs of white that the wind sent flying across
the Square. Now was his time if ever! Bitter resentment urged him on--it
was a monstrous thing that those who could, would not help him!

Near the scales was an anvil, and leaning against the anvil-block was a
heavy sledge. As the old merchant turned from him, he had caught up the
sledge and had struck him a savage blow on the head. McBride had dropped
to the floor without cry or groan.

Langham passed his hand before his eyes to blot out the vision of that
still figure on the floor, and a dry sob burst from his lips.

"Eh, did y