The answer to this was an indignant snort followed by the bang of the
door. Azuba had gone. Captain Daniel looked after her, smiled faintly,
shook his head, and again turned his attention to the letter in his
hand. He did not open it immediately. Instead he sat regarding it with
the same haggard, hopeless expression which he had worn when he first
read the firm's name upon the envelope. He dreaded, perhaps, as much as
he had ever dreaded anything in his life, to open that envelope.

He was sure, perfectly sure, what he should find when he did open it.
A letter from the legal representatives of Smith and Denton, the Boston
hat manufacturers and dealers, stating that, unless the latter's
account was paid within the next week, suit for the amount due would be
instituted in the courts. A law suit! a law suit for the collection of
a debt against him, Daniel Dott, the man who had prided himself upon
his honesty! Think of what it would mean! the disgrace of it! the
humiliation, not only for himself but for Serena, his wife, and
Gertrude, his daughter!

He did not blame Smith and Denton; they had been very kind, very lenient
indeed. The thirty-day credit originally given him had been extended to
sixty and ninety. They had written him many times, and each time he had
written in reply that as soon as collections were better he should be
able to pay in full; that he had a good deal of money owed him, and
as soon as it came in they should have it. But it did not come in. No
wonder, considering that it was owed by the loafers and ne'er-do-wells
of the town and surrounding country, who, because no one else would
trust them, bestowed their custom upon good-natured, gullible Captain
Dan. The more recent letters from the hat dealers had been sharper and
less kindly. They had ceased to request; they demanded. At last they had