andsomely for
three years on his wits.

There was nothing remarkable in Mr. Whedell's personal appearance, with
the exception of his wig. It was his fond belief that this wig looked
like natural hair; but everybody knew it was a wig across the street. He
also wore a gold double eyeglass, which he handled as effectively as a
senorita her fan. Most of his loans, credits, and extensions, had been
obtained by the dexterous manipulation of that eyeglass.

Mr. Whedell twirled the dangerous instrument, and opened and shut it
with more than his usual grace, one evening toward the middle of April.
He was about to broach a disagreeable subject to his daughter, who,
blooming, and exquisitely dressed, sat by the fire and yawned.

"My dear Clementina, you are now twenty years old, and ought to be
married. Delays are dangerous. What do you think of Chiffield?"

Mr. Whedell spoke bluntly, and to the point, because he was addressing
his own daughter, and also because short speeches suited his
natural languor.

"He's a horrid dancer!" said that young lady.

"Granted. But when he does dance, he jingles money in his pocket."

"He's a perfect fright, pa. You won't deny that?"

"I won't deny that he is a plain, substantial gentleman. He has immense
feet, and he is a little bald. What of that?"

"Oh! nothing," replied Clementina, in a tone that signified
"Everything."

Her father caught the irony of the remark, and said:

"My dear child, I know the natural leaning of your sex to handsome men.
You are like your mother there. But remember, they never have any
money--as a general rule. I won't undertake to explain the curious fact.
But fact it is, you will admit that."

"Very likely. But I hate this old Chiffield."

Mr. Whedell smiled, twirled his double eyeglass a few dozen times round
his forefinger, and said:

"My darling daughter, listen, and you will appreciate the advantages of
this match."

Clementina frowned, and bit her finger nails.

"My child," continued the fond parent, "I have always concealed my
troubles from you. They can no longer be kept a secret. This house is
not mine. Most of this furniture is unpaid for. The last month's bills
at the butcher's, baker's, and grocer's are still due. I have exhausted
my credit, and don't know where to raise a dollar. That is my
'situation,' as the newspapers say."

Clementina turned pale with amazement, and could not say a word.

"You are willing to hear me? I will expla