"Same old fool break of putting a letter in the wrong envelope, and I'm afraid to go home. My wife sent me down a note by the hired man an hour ago, telling me to send her ten dollars, and asking me to meet her here at the office at three o'clock and go shopping with her. At the same time I got a bill for ten dollars from a merchant I owe, asking me to remit. I scribbled off a note to the merchant saying: 'Can't possibly do it. I've got to meet another little thing today that won't be put off.' I made the usual mistake and sent the merchant the ten dollars and my wife the note." "Can't you go home and explain the mistake to your wife?" "You don't know her. I've done all I can. I've taken out an accident policy for $10,000 good for two hours, and I expect her here in fifteen minutes. Tell all the boys goodbye for me, and if you meet a lady on the stairs as you go down keep close to the wall." Prompt He raised his arm to strike, but lax and slow His arm fell nerveless to his side. He might have struck a mighty ringing blow. A blow that might have been his joy and pride. But no--his strength at once did fade away, A sudden blow seemed all his soul to fix; He was a workman, working by the day, And heard the whistle blow the hour of six. The Rake-Off "Who bids?" The auctioneer held up a child's rocking-horse, battered and stained. It had belonged to some little member of the man's family whose household property was being sold under the hammer. He was utterly ruined. He had given up everything in the world to his creditors--house, furniture, horses, stock of goods and lands. He stood among the crowd watching the sale that was scattering his household goods and his heirlooms among a hundred strange hands. On his arm leaned a woman heavily veiled. "Who bids?" The auctioneer held the rocking-horse high that it might be seen. Childish hands had torn away the scanty mane; the bridle was twisted and worn by tender little fingers. The crowd was still. The woman under the heavy veil sobbed and stretched out her hands. "No, no, no!" she cried. The man was white with emotion. The little form that once so merrily rode the old rockinghouse had drifted away into the world years ago. This was the only relic left of his happy infancy. The auctioneer, with a queer moisture in his eyes, handed the rocking-horse to the man without a word. He seized it with eager hands, and he and the veiled woman hurried away. The crowd murmured with sympathy. The man and the woman went into an empty room and set the rocking-horse down. He took out his knife, ripped open the front of the horse, and took out a roll of bills. He counted them and said: "It's a cold day when I fail without a rake-off. Eight thousand five hundred dollars, but that auctioneer came very near busting up the game." The Telegram Scene: Telegraph office in Houston.