One afternoon, when all was quiet, Gilbert obtained leave of absence for a few hours, and lost no time in hurrying to that section of the foreign quarter where the Bartletts resided. The walk was one not easily to be forgotten; for the dead Chinese still lay everywhere, the corpses being continually turned over by the savage “chow” dogs, who would growl fiercely at the approach of man. There was small use in trying to kill these dogs, for they numbered into the thousands. Arriving in the neighborhood for which he had been bound, the first thing that caught Gilbert’s eye was the ruins of the great warehouse which had before been damaged by fire. It was now burnt to the ground, and the broken tea-boxes lay in all directions with the tea stamped in the mud of the roadway. The tea-merchant’s residence had also suffered some; but, luckily, at the time of the conflagration the wind was in the opposite direction, and only a piazza was burnt off and the side of the building badly scorched. “That fire must have been an awful shock to Mr. Bartlett,” thought Gilbert, and quickened his steps to the side entrance opposite to where the fire had occurred. As he stood ready to knock on the door, the sound of a familiar voice broke upon his ear. Nuggy Polk was inside, talking to Mrs. Bartlett and Jennie. “I think it’s foolishness that you won’t let me talk to Mr. Bartlett,” Nuggy was saying. “I have travelled all the way from the United States for that purpose.” “I am sorry, but my husband is very low,” answered the lady of the house. “That last fire completely unnerved him; and our doctor says, if he is not kept perfectly quiet, he may go out of his mind completely.” “I won’t excite him, Mrs. Bartlett. In fact, I think what I have to say will make him feel better.” “I presume you came to see about his shares in the Richmond Importing Company.” “That’s it. I came to offer him a fair price for his stock. He knows the company is about on its last legs, and that the stock is hardly worth a pinch of salt. But my father wants to push things and build the company up again, and he is willing to give an old shareholder like Mr. Bartlett a fair price for his holdings.” “I don’t think my husband wishes to sell out.” At this Nuggy Polk’s face grew dark. “He’ll make the mistake of his life, if he doesn’t sell out,” he returned. “For, if my father can’t get hold of the stock, he intends to drop the whole thing; and then the company will be bankrupt inside of three months, and the stock won’t be worth the paper it’s printed on. If you are wise, you’ll get him to sell out, and without delay.” “I shan’t bother him now.” “But I’ve just said it won’t bother him,” persisted the young man from Richmond. “I am the best judge of that, Mr. Polk,” returned the lady, coldly. “You had better call next week,” put in Jennie. And she added in a whisper to her mother, “Papa may hear him talking, and that will make trouble.”