ctful voice,

"Can you tell me, Sir, where to find Mr. Abel Newt?"

The long, pale, bony fingers still listlessly drummed. The hard eyes
rested upon the questioner for a few moments; then, without any evidence
of interest, the old man answered simply, "No," and looked away as if he
had forgotten the stranger's presence.

"Here's a note for him from General Belch."

The gray head beckoned mechanically toward the other room, as if all
business were to be transacted there; and the young man bowing again,
with a vague sense of awe, went in to the outer office and handed the
note to the book-keeper.

It was very short and simple, as Abel found when he read it:

"MY DEAR SIR,--I have just heard of your misfortunes. Don't be dismayed.
In the shindy of life every body must have his head broken two or three
times, and in our country 'tis a man's duty to fall on his feet. Such men
as Abel Newt are not made to fail. I want to see you immediately.

"Yours very truly,

"ARCULARIUS BELCH."

CHAPTER LXII.

THE CRASH, UP TOWN.

The moment Mrs. Dagon heard the dismal news of Boniface Newt's failure
she came running round to see his wife. The house was as solemnly still
as the store and office down town. Mrs. Dagon looked in at the parlor,
which was darkened by closed blinds and shades drawn over the windows,
and in which all the furniture was set as for a funeral, except that
the chilly chintz covers were not removed.

She found Mrs. Nancy Newt in her chamber with May.

"Well, well! What does this mean? It's all nothing. Don't you be alarmed.
What's failing? It doesn't mean any thing; and I really hope, now that
he has actually failed and done with it, Boniface will be a little more
cheerful and liberal. Those parlor curtains are positively too bad!
Boniface ought to have plenty of time to himself; and I hope he will give
more of those little dinners, and cheer himself up! How is he?"

Mrs. Newt was dissolved in tears. She shook her head weakly, and rubbed
her hands.

"Oh! Aunt Dagon, it's dreadful to see him. He don't seem himself. He does
nothing but sit at the table and drum with his fingers; and in the night
he lies awake, thinking. And, oh dear!" she said, giving way to a sudden
burst of grief, "he doesn't scold at any thing."

Mrs. Dagon listened and reflected.

"My dear," she asked, "has he settled any thing upon you?"

"Nothing," replied Mrs. Newt.

"Aunt Dagon," said May, who sat by, looking at t