“A cold spot this!” said Mr. Jones as the two walked down the street. “Feels like snow, too; and, by Jove, looks like it!” Inman grunted assent. The sky was leaden-coloured, and a few light flakes had already fallen, as he knew. “I hope it holds off. I’ve to travel to Hull through the night,” he said. “We’ve opened a new account there that’ll make us independent of these local fellows who’ve cut up so rough.” “Why the dickens must you go through the night, this weather? Won’t it run to an hotel bill?” Mr. Jones inquired. “You’ve hit it exactly,” Inman replied caustically. “Mr. Briggs doesn’t believe in his men wasting either time or money.” “Will he pull through now?” the clerk asked, lowering his voice to a confidential whisper. “If he keeps off the drink—yes,” replied Inman. “That’s my only anxiety. It wouldn’t surprise me to find the money still in the safe when I get back.” “Well, it won’t run away,” laughed the other, and Inman shrugged his shoulders. “If he wasn’t too fuddled to do it, _he_ might,” he answered. They parted at the door of the hotel and Inman returned slowly to the shop with his eyes fixed thoughtfully on the ground. There was no spring in his step, no brighter light in his eye, but rather a look of increased anxiety. With some men the effort to over-reach and cheat their fellows is such an ordinary and natural act that its successful accomplishment affords them no more than an ordinary and unemotional satisfaction, allowing no exhilaration of spirit or relaxation of strain. Inman was of this number, and now that he had reached this advanced point in the ascent of the difficult Hill of Fortune he found his only pleasure in forming his plans for the conquest of the summit and bending his energies to the final struggle. He entered the office to find Baldwin asleep again, and without saying a word to the men who turned away their heads significantly when he glanced in their direction he went downstairs and sought Keturah. “Is Nancy about?” he asked. “Nay, she’s one of her bad girds on, and is lying down,” she replied. “Mr. Briggs hasn’t been down to his dinner, I suppose?” he inquired more mildly than was his wont. “What we’re all coming to I don’t know,” she replied, ignoring the direct question; “but I see naught before us but t’ poor-house”; and she threw her apron over her head and gave way to tears. Inman had never treated her less roughly. “Keturah,” he said, “put your apron down and listen to me. I’m not one to shove my worries on to other folks, and particularly on to women, but I’m in the devil of a hole, and you’re Baldwin’s sister. If I wasn’t going to be away for a day or two I wouldn’t trouble you; but what am I to do? Now can you follow me?” The quietness of his voice calmed and yet frightened her, as bullying would never have done; and she turned her worn face to his and bade him proceed.