Marlow. I am sure my assets are lower than you think them to be, and if you would only give me a little time to realize on them—”

“Not another word!” cried Marlow. “You will pay the last cent day after tomorrow or out of this house you go!”

He banged the door and went.

III

 

That next day was a day never to be forgotten. All day long the family sat grouped together, saying little, now and then looking into each other’s stony eyes, now and then clasping each other in a long embrace, and many were the smothered sobs that were heard, many the tears that fell.

I could not bear this sight long at a time. I flitted restlessly from house to house where we had hopes, but gained no comfort. One client was “better to-day;” another “about the same;” another had a “stronger pulse;” another had had “an easier night than usual.” Always these dismal refrains. Whenever I entered our stricken home, I had to meet the mute inquiry of those pathetic eyes, but I never had to speak—my own looks conveyed my heavy tidings and the hopeless heads were bowed once more.

I was up all night, wandering about the village. The fatal day came, the sun rose and still I wandered from house to house—but not to inquire—I had no heart to do that any longer. I only took friends of mine to these houses, and told them to wait, and if they got any news, to bring it to me with all speed.

Two hours later there was a scene in our home. Old Marlow was there, gloating over his victims. He paced the floor banging upon it with his stick and talking like this:

“Come, the sooner you clear out of this, the better you’ll suit me. A pack of paupers, that is what you are! Fine assets, truly! Coffins rotting away without sale, a graveyard that’s become a grazing ground, a gang of convalescents that the lightning couldn’t make marketable!”

So he raved on, enjoying himself. One after another my friends came softly to the door, whispered their tidings to me and glided away. I let the old man storm on. At last my poor old Cadaver rose feebly up, gathered his weeping wife to his side, and said—

“Go, my little children, and you, my poor daughter and my poor Joseph, go forth from the old home; it has no shelter, more, for our breaking hearts. Out into the bleak world we will go together, and together will we starve and die.”

And so, with bended heads and streaming eyes, they moved slow and sadly toward the door. Marlow waved his hand and said—

“Farewell, a long farewell! My house is well rid—”

“Hold!” I shouted. “Stay where you are!”

Everybody stared with inquiring astonishment. Old Marlow grew red with rage.

“What means this?” he cried.

“It means this!” said I. “Samson is no more! old Mrs. Hale is at peace! Philip Martin has fallen with apoplexy! William Thompson is drowned! George Simpson has had a relapse and the rattle is in his throat! And hark ye, wretch, the cholera is at our very doors and in its most malignant form!”

With a wild joy Mr. Cadaver threw his arms around my neck and murmured—

“O, precious, precious tidings!—blest be the tongue that has uttered them!”

Joseph and Gracie embraced with tears of gratitude, and then astounded me by embracing me, too. In an instant misery was gone and tumultuous happiness had taken its place. I turned upon old Marlow and said—

“There, sir, is the door, be gone! You will be paid, never fear. And if you should want to borrow any money,” I said, with bitter sarcasm, “do not hesitate to say so, for we can procure all we want, with our present business prospects.”

He went away raging, and we went gaily to work dusting stock and getting ready for the most lucrative day’s work our little shop had ever known.

Little remains to be told. Our prosperity moved straight along without a halt. Everything seemed to conspire to help us. No village in all the region was so ravaged by the pestilence as was ours, the doctors were the first to go, and those who supplied their places passed through our hands and Joseph’s without halt or delay. The graveyard grew in grace and beauty day by day till there was not a grass-patch visible in it, not a level spot to trouble the eye.

All in good time Joseph and Gracie were married, and there was a great and costly wedding. As if to make everything complete and leave nothing to be desired, the commerce of the wedding day paid the entire expense of the occasion, and Mr.