the situation and its possible consequences, he felt,
nevertheless, that Hammon had acted in quite the proper way. In
fact, for a manly man there had been no alternative, regardless of
who had fired the shot. It was quite like Jarvis to do the
generous, even the heroic, thing when least expected. Whatever
Hammon might have been, he was in the last analysis all man, and
Merkle admired his courage. He was glad that Hammon had thought of
those three women who bore his name, even if they bore him no
love, and he took courage from his friend's plucky self-control.
Perhaps the wound was not serious, after all. Hammon's death would
mean the ruin of many investors, a general crash, perhaps even a
wide-spread panic, and, according to Merkle's standards, these
catastrophes bulked bigger than the unhappiness of women, the fall
of an honored name, or death itself.

When he felt the grateful smoothness of Fifth Avenue beneath the
wheels he leaned forth a second time and warned Bob, "Be careful
of the watchman in the block."

The liquor in Bob was dying; he bent downward to inquire, "Is he
all right?"

Merkle nodded, then withdrew his head.

The Hammon residence has changed owners of late, but many people
recall its tragic associations and continue to point it out with
interest. It is a massive pile of gray stone, standing just east
of Fifth Avenue, and its bronze doors open upon an exclusive,
well-kept side-street. As the cab swung in sight of the house
Wharton, seeing a gray-clad figure near by, drove past without