“Mr. Tamms? ah, yes--clever fellow, Tamms. I like to help a young fellow along; he was in a tight place and I pulled him out. If you’d like a few hundred thousand I could let you have it--but they say Townley & Son have failed, you know. And Charlie told me something about my trusts--but that can’t be, can it? I never lost a dollar on my trusts. All gone--everything gone! Where’s Livingstone, my old friend Livingstone? His seat empty--why, he isn’t ill? Tell me, my boy, where’s Dick Livingstone?” “He’s gone, sir,” said Gower. “Gone? why gone? he always waits for me--there’s nothing wrong with Livingstone, I hope? Why, he’s a better man than I by most a year.” “He’s lost much money, sir, they say--he said he couldn’t wait.” “Lost? lost money? Oh, yes--all gone, gone--No, no--wait till my son Charlie gets down-town--he’s a bright boy; he’ll carry on the old house, and show you boys a wrinkle, eh?” No man there ventured to speak; for his son Charlie had died, some time back in the fifties. Suddenly Mr. Townley began to laugh. “Aha, Dick Livingstone, we’ll show the boys a turn or two--but where is he? Tamms--I know--my God--he’s a rascal--it’s gone, all gone.” The old man tottered toward his seat in the window. It was just before the list of members; and all were silent in suspense. Would he see his name, where Livingstone had crossed it off? But suddenly a firm hand was laid on the old man’s elbow. “Come home with me, sir. I’ve got a carriage waiting.” It was Lionel Derwent. “Ah, Mr. Derwent--glad to see you.” His wan face lighted up with pleasure; and he seemed to think he was talking again with Derwent in the office. “Yes, it’s a good stock--always was a good stock since Townley & Son managed it. Come home, you say? Yes, I think--I’m not quite well. Good-by, my boys.” Derwent led his tottering steps to the door. He smiled vacantly, but leaned heavily on Derwent’s arm. No longer prey for Tamms, nor fitting object for a sheriff’s care, or other troubles of this world. They passed the silent group about the centre-table, which made way respectfully. “Don’t forget the picture, Gower,” said he, as Derwent led him from the door. CHAPTER XXXVIII. THE END OF THE EPISODE. When the train had fairly started, that morning, Flossie sank back into her seat with a certain sensation of relief. Almost immediately, they entered the long tunnel under the city; no conversation was possible, nor could she see Mr. Wemyss’s face. She had the back seat herself; Justine sat with him, on the seat in front of her. As they came out of the tunnel and crossed the Harlem River, she looked at him. He met her eye nervously, and she could see that he was embarrassed by the presence of the maid.