s what, Mr. Ele?"

General Belch looked at his companion. They both smiled.

"How the old phrases sort o' slip out, don't they?" asked the General,
squirting.

"They do," said Mr. Ele, taking snuff.

"Well, now, don't you see what kind of man Abel Newt is?"

"I do, indeed," replied Ele.

"I tell you, if you fellows from the city don't look out for yourselves,
you'll find him riding upon your shoulders. He is a smart fellow. I am
very sorry for Watkins Bodley. Any family?"

"Yes--a good deal," replied Mr. Ele, vaguely.

"Ah indeed! Pity! pity! I suppose, then, that a proper sense of what he
owes to his family--eh?"

"Without question. Oh! certainly."

General Belch rose.

"I do not see, then, that we have any thing else that ought to
detain you. I will see Mr. Newt, and let you know. Good-morning, Mr.
Ele--good-morning, my dear Sir."

And the General bowed out the representative so imperatively that the
Honorable B. Jawley Ele felt very much as if he had been kicked down
stairs.

CHAPTER LXI.

GONE TO PROTEST.

There was an unnatural silence and order in the store of Boniface Newt,
Son, & Co. The long linen covers were left upon the goods. The cases were
closed. The boys sat listlessly and wonderingly about. The porter lay
upon a bale reading a newspaper. There was a sombre regularity and
repose, like that of a house in which a corpse lies, upon the morning
of the funeral.

Boniface Newt sat in his office haggard and gray. His face, like his
daughter Fanny's, had grown sharp, and almost fierce. The blinds were
closed, and the room was darkened. His port-folio lay before him upon
the desk, open. The paper was smooth and white, and the newly-mended
pens lay carefully by the inkstand. But the merchant did not write.
He had not written that day. His white, bony hand rested upon the
port-folio, and the long fingers drummed upon it at intervals, while
his eyes half-vacantly wandered out into the store and saw the long
shrouds drawn over the goods. Occasionally a slight sigh of weariness
escaped him. But he did not seem to care to distract his mind from its
gloomy intentness; for the morning paper lay beside him unopened,
although it was afternoon.

In the outer office the book-keeper was still at work. He looked
from book to book, holding the leaves and letting them fall
carefully--comparing, computing, writing in the huge volumes, and filing
various papers away. Sometimes, while he yet held the