popular doctor, in Delight Street. The news
was broken to the widow as agreeably as possible. Mrs. Thorne is a
young and very beautiful woman, on whom this shocking blow falls with
uncommon cruelty.

"'The body was carried to Dr. Thorne's house at one o'clock. The time
of the funeral is not yet appointed. The "Herald" will be informed as
soon as a decision is reached.

"'The death of Dr. Thorne is a loss to this community which it is
impossible to,'--hm--m--'his distinguished talents'--hm--m--hm--m."

The broker laid down the paper, and sighed.

"I sent for him yesterday, to consult about his affairs," he observed
gently. "It is a pity for her to lose that Santa Ma. She will need it
now. I'm sorry for her. I don't know how he left her, exactly. He
did a tremendous business, but he spent as he went. He was a good
fellow--I always liked the doctor! Terrible affair! Terrible affair!
Jason! Where is that advertisement of Grope County Iowa Mortgage? You
have filed it in the wrong place! Be more careful in future."

..."_Mr. Brake!_" I tried once more; and my voice was the voice of
mortal anguish to my own appalled and ringing ear.

"Do you not hear? Can you not see? Is there _no one_ in this place
who hears? Or sees me, _either_?"

An early customer had strayed in; Drayton was there; and the watchman
had entered. The men (there were five in all) collected by the
broker's desk, around the morning papers, and spoke to each other with
the familiarity which bad news of any public interest creates. They
conversed in low tones. Their faces wore a shocked expression. They
spoke of me; they asked for more particulars of the tragedy reported by
the morning press; they mentioned my merits and defects, but said more
about merits than defects, in the merciful, foolish way of people who
discuss the newly dead.

"I've known him ten years," said the broker.

"I've had the pleasure of the doctor's acquaintance myself a good
while," said the inspector politely.

"Wasn't he a quick-tempered man?" asked the customer.

"He cured a baby of mine of the croup," said the watchman. "It was
given up for dead. And he only charged me a dollar and a half. He was
very kind to the little chap."

"He set an ankle for me, once, after a football match," suggested the
clerk. "I wouldn't ask to be better treated. He wasn't a bit rough."

..."Gentlemen," I entreated, stretching out my hands toward the group,
"there is