a bundle. In an instant, the horse is reined up by her side, and a
voice of contagious promptitude tells her to put up her bundle and
mount. The voice communicates to the astonished pedestrian its own
energy. She is forthwith seated, and away dashes the phaeton. In a few
minutes, the stranger is deposited in Bristol, with the present of
some pretty little book, and the phaeton hastes on to Nelson Street.
There it turns into the archway of an immense warehouse. "Here, boy;
take my horse, take my horse!" It is the voice of the head of the
firm. The boy flies. The master passes through the offices as if he
had three days' work to do. Yet his eye notes everything. He reaches
his private office. He takes from his pocket a memorandum-book, on
which he has set down, in order, the duties of the day. A boy waits at
the door. He glances at his book, and orders the boy to call a clerk.
The clerk is there promptly, and receives his instructions in a
moment. "Now, what is the next thing?" asks the master, glancing at
his memorandum. Again the boy is on the wing, and another clerk
appears. He is soon dismissed. "Now, what is the next thing?" again
looking at the memorandum. At the call of the messenger, a young man
now approaches the office door. He is a "traveller;" but
notwithstanding the habitual push and self-possession of his class, he
evidently is approaching his employer with reluctance and
embarrassment. He almost pauses at the entrance. And now that he is
face to face with the strict man of business, he feels much confused.

"Well, what's the matter? I understand you can't make your cash quite
right."

"No, sir."

"How much are you short?"