"Ah, I see you are very compassionate for the girl all at once," said Jacob, eyeing Peter. "I have reasons to be," replied Peter, spiritedly. "Were the girls hurt?" "No; but Edith Jarney is very ill--." "Very ill! What?" interrupted Peter. "Brain fever, she's got." "Ah, she is too good to live," said Peter, looking out his peephole again. Then turning quickly, with his peculiar little eyes turned up sidewise at Jacob, he said: "Say, Jacob, we must put our sleuths on the trail of that old drunkard, Billy Barton. He has been gone a long time, and not a single word from him." "What do you want with the sot?" asked Jacob, mystified. "He's no good." "That's my business--poor Billy," and Peter lapsed into a moody spell, for sometimes he seemed to have a little of the feelings of a natural heart; but this quality in him was as rare as the air on Pike's Peak. "His family must be cared for." "Jarney's doing that," answered Jacob. "Is he?" jerked out Peter, wrathfully. "I'll not allow it from him, the interloper!" "You are getting generous all at once, Peter; I should not begrudge him the privilege." "Well, then, I don't," replied Peter, after a moment's reflection. "Let him keep them; he owes it to them." "It is time for me to be at my office, Peter; so good bye," said Jacob, rising to leave. "Remember Monroe," said Peter. "Oh, I'll see to that," said Jacob, as he went out. So are the "ropes" laid, as per the rule of things, to further the ends of the men who neither toil nor spin. Were the dear people less disposed to supine indifference toward their public officials, the government of our country would be as perfect, no doubt, as that of the fabled Utopia. CHAPTER XIV. JOHN WINTHROPE IS SURROUNDED BY PERPLEXITIES. The morbidly silent Monroe went about his duties with the serenity of a cat out on a dark night. The immobility of his starched face left no impression on the beholder of it as to whether he could be successfully punctured with the light of pleasantry. His feline movements from office to office among the clerical force cast an uncanny glamour over them all; and when not in the act of always appearing to be ready to make a spring upon them, as he glided whisperingly through the aisles of desks and high stands, he would be sitting at his own desk, in a corner of his private room, scanning sheet after sheet of reports and balances, and running over leaf after leaf of notations that had been left on his spindle for his especial perusal.