to make an effort to save myself from the disgrace and disaster of a
protest stirred in my mind; but it died away, and I returned to my
store to await the dread result that must follow this failure to
take up my paper. I looked at the slow-moving hand on the clock, and
saw minute after minute go by with a stoicism that surprised even
myself. At last the stroke of the hammer fell; the die was cast. I
would be protested, that greatest of all evils dreaded by a man of
business. As to going home to dinner, that was out of the question;
I could not have eaten a mouthful to save me. All I had now to do
was to wait for the visit of the notary, from which I shrank with a
nervous dread. Everybody in the street would know him, I thought,
and everybody would see him enter my store and comprehend his
business.

Half-past three arrived, and yet I had not been bearded by the dread
monster, at whose very name thousands have trembled and do still
tremble. I sat awaiting him in stern silence. Four o'clock, and yet
he had not come. Perhaps, it was suggested to me, the holders of the
note had withdrawn it at the last moment. Cheering thought!

Just then I saw a lad enter the store and speak to one of the
clerks, who pointed back to where I sat. The boy was not over
fourteen, and had, I noticed as he approached, a modest, rather
shrinking look.

"Mr. Jones?" he said, when he had come near to me.

"Yes," I replied, indifferently, scarcely wondering what he wanted.

"Will you pay this note?" he said, opening a piece of paper that I