But the office was not even opened; and, looking
through the glass door, he saw that there was no fire in the grate. What
was the meaning of this? Going into the street, he met Tonsor near the
post-office. At the first sight of the broker's face, Fletcher's heart
seemed to stop beating.
"Good-morning, Fletcher. Bad business, this! I suppose you've heard.
Bullion went to protest yesterday. Hope you got wind of it in time, and
made all safe."
"Bullion failed!" exclaimed Fletcher, through his chattering teeth.
"Then I'm a ruined man!"
But a sudden thought struck him, and he asked eagerly,--
"But the money,--haven't you got it still?"
"No,--paid it over yesterday."
"Well, the shares, then?"
"No,--sorry to say, Bullion's clerk came for them not ten minutes before
I heard of the protest."
"O God!" groaned the unhappy man, "there is no hope! But you, Mr.
Tonsor, you are my friend; help me out of this! You can raise the
money."
"Ten thousand dollars! It's a pretty large sum. I'm afraid I couldn't
get it."
"Try, my friend,--you shall never regret it."
Tonsor hesitated, and Fletcher's spirits rose. He watched the broker's
composed face with eyes that might pierce a mummy.
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