Then followed a wholly unwritable scene—O'Connor and his wife, by turns and at times together, protesting, insisting, assuring, even coaxing. In the _mêlée_ of warm-hearted Irish explosives, I could distinguish, "Shure, I've plinty money"—"More than plinty, he has"—"What wid me rum"—"Yis, an' your junk"—"And me rints"—"There's a good man, now" "No bodther at all, at all." But at last O'Connor caught a look in his former employer's eye that he knew. He saw that further argument or entreaty was useless. At a gesture from Mr. Cutting, he and his wife desisted. [Illustration: Slowly and awkwardly, but with great patience, Mrs. O'Connor's signature was constructed.—Page 224.] "No, Michael," Mr. Cutting continued, quietly; "it is impossible. It is out of the question. Besides, I must tell you, and now seems a good time, that while my affairs are in no danger, they are, owing to this new development in the company's prospects, causing me a good deal of trouble and anxiety. I have, therefore, turned the property of yours I was holding into cash, and it is now in my bank. I want you to wait here while I send and draw it out. Then I am going to ask you to take care of it yourself—at least, for the present. I am happy to say the amount has increased considerably, and I know you won't be disappointed." His tone was firm, and his determination manifest. O'Connor humbly acquiesced with his familiar "Phwativer you plaze, sor, Mr. Cutting, sor." Then Mr. Cutting said: "But there is one thing you can do for me, Michael, and I shall be very much obliged to you if you will." "I will, then," said O'Connor, brightening. "Phwat is ut?" "Give me this paper," said Mr. Cutting, holding up the paper O'Connor had handed him. "Shure I will, sor, if you want it. 'Tis no use to me now." His sadness had returned, and now held him completely. Mr. Cutting then disappeared into the company's offices; but in passing my desk on the way he laid the paper before me, whispering as he did so, "Read that." O'Connor and his wife were now conversing apart, in mournful numbers, so I read, unobserved, this: "I, Michael O'Connor, being of sound and disposing mind, this day do hereby loan to Mr. Henry H. Cutting, Esq., for any use he please, all my money he has now in charge, him to repay whenever it suits his convenience, and if never at all, no matter at all. "So help me God. "_Michael_ "his × mark "_O'Connor_. "With my consent, "_Bridget Ann O'Connor_." You may be sure it found a safe abiding-place among Mr. Cutting's most cherished possessions. He soon came back into the office, alert and eager, a new light in his eyes. "Mike," he exclaimed, so suddenly that O'Connor dropped his hat, "perhaps you _can_ help me after all." "Glory be to God!" exclaimed O'Connor, looking at him, though groping for his hat, which had rolled in a short semi-circle to his wife's feet and was now safely reposing in her lap. "How, sor?"