uoyant air. Mr.
Lindsay's spirits fell instantly. "I see it all," said he, "you can't do
anything."

"Perhaps I may, yet. The notes I spoke of, though due to me, are in the
hands of Mr. Sandford, Secretary of the Vortex Insurance Company. I have
been there, and cannot see him. His shutting himself up, I am afraid,
bodes me no good. However, I'll go again an hour hence."

"No harm in trying. Did you indorse the notes to him?"

"No. They were merely left with him for convenience' sake, as he was my
agent in loaning the money."

"Then he can't make way with them,--honestly."

Monroe seemed hurt by the implied suspicion, but did not reply, thinking
it best, if possible, to change the subject of conversation.

Mr. Lindsay sat in silence, a silence that was broken only once or twice
during the morning, and then by some friend or business acquaintance
asking, in hurried or anxious tones, "Anything over to-day?" A mournful
shake of the head was the only answer, and the merchant sunk into a
deeper gloom.

Again Monroe went to see Mr. Sandford, but with no better success. The
third time he naturally spoke in a peremptory tone, and, giving his name
and business, said, that he must and would see Mr. Sandford, or get the
notes. The weight of his employer's trouble rested on him, and gave an
unwonted force to his usually kind and modest temper. The clerk, not
daring to break his instructions, and seeing that it was not far from
two o'clock, intimated, in a half-confidential tone, that he would
do well to ask Mr. Tonsor, the broker, about them. Nervous with
apprehension, Monroe walked swiftly to Tonsor's office. At the door he
met Fletcher coming out with exultation in every feature. Within stood
Bullion, his legs more astride than usual, his chin more confidently
settled over his collar, and the head of his cane pressed against his
mouth. As Monroe entered, Tonsor ceased the conversation, and, looking
up, said, blandly, "My young friend, can I do anything for you?" Bullion
at the same time turned the eyes that might have been only glittering
petrifactions, and pointed the long eyebrow at him inquiringly.

"I hope so," was the reply. "Have you some notes in your possession
payable to Walter Monroe?"

"Who asks the question?"--very civilly.

"My name is Monroe."

"Ah! Mr. Sandford is your agent, I presume?"

"Yes. I left the notes with him."

"And you wanted to raise some money on them?"

"Yes, that is what I wish."