he had some chance of getting even; but Fate he could not combat.

Bob Brownley had thought himself in hard luck when his eyes opened to the
fact that he had been robbed by means of dice loaded by man, but when Fate
pressed the button he saw that his man-made hell was but a feeble
imitation, and--was satisfied, as whoever knows the game of life is
satisfied, because--he must be. Bob's strong head bowed, his iron will
bent, and meekly his soul murmured, "Thy will be done."

That night he married Beulah Sands. The minister who united the grown-up
man and the woman who was as a new-born babe saw nothing extraordinary in
the match. He murmured to me, who acted as best man to the groom, maid of
honour to the bride, and father and mother to both, "We see strange
sights, we ministers of the great city, Mr. Randolph. The sweet little
lady appears to be a trifle scared." My explanation that she and Mr.
Brownley were the only survivors of the awful tragedies of the day was
sufficient. He was satisfied when he got no other response to his
question, "Do you take this man to be your wedded husband?" than a sweet
childish smile as she snuggled closer to Bob.

Bob and his bride went South to his mother and sisters the next day. He
left to me the settlement of his trades. He instructed me to set aside
$3,000,000 profits for Beulah Sands-Brownley, and insisted that I pay from
the balance the notes he had given me a few weeks before. There remained
something over $5,000,000 for himself.

The leading Wall Street paper, in its preachment on the panic, wound up
with:

"Wall Street has lived through many black Fridays. Some of them have