etime."

Jacob Dolph grew red in the face and shook his head vigorously.

"Don't speak of it, sir, don't speak of it!" he said, vehemently. "It's
the curse of the country. If you have any such infernal opinions, don't
vent them in my presence, sir. I know what I am talking about. Keep
clear of Wall Street, sir. It is the straight road to perdition."

They entered one of a row of broad-fronted buildings of notable severity
and simplicity of architecture. Four square stone columns upheld its
brick front, and on one of these faded gilt letters, on a ground of
dingy black, said simply:

ABRAM VAN RIPER'S SON.

There was no further announcement of Abram Van Riper's Son's character,
or of the nature of his business. It was assumed that all people knew
who Abram Van Riper's Son was, and that his (Abram Van Riper's)
ship-chandlery trade had long before grown into a great "commission
merchant's" business.

It was full summer, and there were no doors between the pillars to bar
entrance to the gloomy cavern behind them, which stretched in
semi-darkness the whole length and width of the building, save for a
narrow strip at the rear, where, behind a windowed partition, clerks
were writing at high desks, and where there was an inner and more
secluded pen for Abram Van Riper's son.

In the front of the cave, to one side, was a hoistway, where bales and
boxes were drawn up from the cellar or swung twisting and twirling to
the lofts above. Amidships the place was strewn with small tubs,
matting-covered bales and boxes, coils of bright new rope, and
odd-looking packages of a hundred sorts, all of them with gaping wounds
in their envelopes, or otherwise having their pristine integrity
wounded. From this it was not difficult to guess that these were samples
of merchandise. Most of them gave forth odors upon the air, odors
ranging from the purely aromatic, suggestive of Oriental fancies or
tropic dreams of spice, to the positively offensive--the latter
varieties predominating.

[Illustration]

But certain objects upon a long table were so peculiar in appearance
that the visitors could not pass them by with a mere glance of wonder.
They looked like small leather pies, badly warped in the baking. A clerk
in his shirt sleeves, with his straw hat on one side of his head,
whistled as he cut into these, revealing a livid interior, the color of
half-cooked veal, which he inspected with care. Eustace was moved to
positive curiosity.