The man demurred, until the actual contact of the dollar with his palm convinced him of my good faith. And presently he clambered to the bridge, while I lost little time in dropping to his place. "Say, boss," he called down to me in a nervous whisper, "if youse done goin' to drown yourself, won't you please wait till I get off where I cain't hear you splash?" At last I was alone, at last secure from interruption! And scarcely daring to believe in such good fortune, I crouched against the wall and held my breath. So minutes went by, each one an agony of fear that some fresh difficulty might yet confront me. Then, gaining strength, I cautiously drew forth once more the treasured blue envelope. My hands were tremulous, my nerves tingling with emotion; but I had schooled myself to bear whatever good or evil Fate might have in store. The strong cool wind from beneath the bridge brought me new courage, and the very machinery seemed to murmur promises. I pressed my blue envelope to my heart; I laid it on my knee for one brief instant, to experience again the tantalizing delights of anticipation. The breeze became a gale. It threatened to dislodge my hat, and in one mad moment I raised both hands. In the next--I know not how it happened--in the next, I saw my letter far below where the wild waters whirled. For an instant it leaped and danced before me, lighter than the foam, and then with one last flash of blue it disappeared in the black waters of the turbine pit.-- "Continued on page 14," _Sunday Magazine_, April 1, '07. Much as I dislike superlatives, I may say that never have I been so disappointed and annoyed. ("If you have read this story, it may be well to remind you that this is April 1st."--ED. _Sunday Magazine_.) THE MONEY METER Hiram Clatfield, upon the threshold of his office, peered out into the counting-room in a manner difficult to associate with the inscriptions on the plate-glass door half open at his back. "Private" was printed there in gilded letters, and "President," but the tone of the president was almost that of one who asks a favor as he said: "Mr. Wattles, if you should happen to be disengaged, I should like to speak with you a moment." The cashier, wheeling on his lofty-legged stool, gave one regretful glance toward a regiment of figures, a marching column six abreast from which he had been casting out the nines, and replied resignedly: "I'm disengaged at present." "Then please come in," said Mr. Clatfield, accepting the untruth with gratitude. "Come in and shut the door."