When Hummel returned, the news emaciated him. He went to bed and lay ill for a week, and nobody threw out the life line to him. Nay, even the bed he lay on came near to being snatched from under him. And now, with the boom trembling on the verge of collapse, with everybody’s contracts coming due, bills began to rain upon the preacher’s head. “Jennie,” groaned he, “you have ruined me. See, they haven’t paid my salary, and the furniture man is mad. We will be cast into the street!” Then there fell into Mrs. Hummel’s hands an envelope--“Mrs. Stoker--at home--Friday night--euchre!” “Why,” cried Mrs. Wheelock, bursting in with Mrs. Botts, “everybody knows that the Stokers are on the brink of ruin. They say he is fighting like mad to keep his head up--maybe to keep out of jail! This is their final fling. And everybody has learned about her prize. Guess what it is!” “And guess what it cost!” shouted Mrs. Botts. “I wouldn’t be un-Christian about it,” declared Jennie, “but I do think swindlers had better hide their heads. What is the thing, then, and what does it cost?” There was an impressive hush. “A bedroom set worth two hundred! And she’s let everybody know that she paid cash down for it.” They all gazed at one another, the fire of gaming in their eyes. “She is making one last grand play,” said they. One day of gloom did Mrs. Hummel pass in Hummel’s bedroom, arguing, pleading. To Hummel, he and the whole town were gone to the devil. “No! Never!” cried he, receiving more duns, and shaken. But at last toward night he arose and, haunted, went to the furniture store. In the window was the bedroom set, and over it a sign, “The prize for Mrs. Stoker’s euchre-party.” Staring, the emaciated Hummel lost his soul. “Would it cover the bill,” he whispered, hoarsely, in the dealer’s back room, “if we won it?” “About,” mused the dealer; “Hummel, since it’s you. I’d call it square.” And Hummel returned, unsteady on his feet. * * * * * Once again the cottage of the Corinthian pillars shone with the brilliancy of a euchre evening. Stoker was making a high play to-night to keep his footing with the men. Mrs. Stoker had rouged to hide the pallor of her cheeks. The house distanced all previous efforts in its decorations, the refreshments were beyond the experience of the most high-rolling citizen of the town. Behold, in came Mrs. Hummel, her blood up. “And dear Mr. Hummel?” asked Mrs. Stoker, taking Mrs. Hummel’s hand in both of hers. “Hummel’s in bed,” said Jennie, tersely; “Mrs. Stoker, I’ll play to-night.” A moment’s silence, as of a solitude; then a great hubbub, the guests making for tables. “So glad!” cried Mrs. Stoker; “we’ve always hoped you would!” “So glad!” shrieked all the women into Mrs. Hummel’s ear; and the games began.