hand, into the midst of business, was the most certain mode of forgetting
my causes of sorrow. Plunge into anything with my whole heart, I could
not, then, though I endeavoured to lose my cares in business.

One of my first acts, in the way of affairs, was to look after the note I
had given to Rupert. It had been made payable at the bank where I kept my
deposits, and I went thither to inquire if it had been left for
collection. The following conversation passed between myself and the
cashier on this occasion:

"Good morning, Mr.----," I said, saluting the gentleman; "I have come to
inquire if a note for $20,000, made by me in favour of Rupert Hardinge,
Esquire, at ten days, has been left for collection. If so, I am ready to
pay it now."

The cashier gave me a business smile,--one that spoke favourably of my
standing as a moneyed man,--before he answered the question. This smile
was, also, a sign that money was plenty.

"Not absolutely for collection, Captain Wallingford, as nothing would give
us more pleasure than to renew it, if you would just go through the form
of obtaining a city endorser."

"Mr. Hardinge has then left it for collection," I observed, pained, in
spite of all that had passed, at Rupert's giving this conclusive evidence
of the inherent meanness of his character.

"Not exactly for collection, sir," was the cashier's answer, "for, wishing
to anticipate the money, by a few days, and being under the necessity of
leaving town, we discounted it for him."