“I have some property, Esquire Rock, but were I forced to sell immediately, it would bring but a fraction of its real value.” “The law must take its course, sir,” said the attorney, decidedly; and he looked at Mr. Merritt, then at the door. The mechanic understood the hint, and when he met the attorney’s glance, he saw no hope there. “I had thought,” said he, “that the manner in which I became involved in this misfortune would entitle me to some slight favor at your hands—to a trifling delay by which I might avoid total ruin; but I perceive I am mistaken in looking for mercy here,” he added, bitterly. Esquire Rock was utterly confounded at the man’s audacity. A poor mechanic to beard _him_—Isaac Rock, Esquire, counsellor at law, and notary public! The thing was unprecedented. “_You_ thought!” exclaimed he, as soon as he had recovered sufficiently to reply. “Do you understand law, sir? You have no right to think, sir. The majesty of the law is trampled under foot when mechanics are permitted to think—” “Or asses to practice at the bar,” retorted Mr. Merritt, indignantly, turning to depart. The fiery furnace of the attorney’s rage threatened to consume him at this new and flagrant act of daring; and he was driven to disclose a secret, which he had intended to hold in suspension, like the sword of Democles, over his victim. He called to Mr. Merritt. “Come back, Mr. Merritt; let me give you a little further light upon this case.” Esquire Rock’s manner had undergone a sudden change, which puzzled the mechanic exceedingly, as he obeyed the summons. All traces of wrath had vanished, and he received the mechanic with something of the air of complacency, with which an epicure might be supposed to contemplate the preparations for an extensive feast. “Do you know John Fields, Mr. Merritt?” he inquired. “I do not—but Mr. Warden told me that he was a wealthy cousin of his, living at Salem. Do _you_ know him, sir?” The attorney’s face lighted up with the same curious smile that had before accompanied the mention of that indorser’s name. “Yes, Mr. Merritt, John Fields is a distant relative of the celebrated John Smith, an imaginary being, as I have ascertained, who lends his name for the accommodation of such of his friends as want a discount. The name is not worth one copper, Mr. Merritt, and therefore we shall make the money out of you. We will have an execution out shortly for ten thousand dollars and the costs, which will be a thousand more, or it shall be my fault. What think you of that, Mr. Merritt?” he continued, watching the effects of the development with intense pleasure. Alas! it was too true. Mr. Warden had been in the habit of conforming to the rules of the bank, by furnishing fictitious indorsers to the requisite number; a harmless evasion, which the president readily winked at, in consideration of a trifling token of good will, provided always, that Warden obtained one genuine and responsible name in addition to his own.