12. CHAPTER XII. IN WHICH THE CATASTROPHE IS CONTINUED. I was, indeed, so shocked, so overwhelmed, by ingratitude coming from such a quarter, that it was some time before I could recover myself sufficiently to think of the steps necessary to be taken for my preservation. I remembered, however, that he, even _he_, my thrice unfeeling nephew, had recommended me to borrow of my friends what would be enough to retrieve my affairs from ruin. I ran from the house, not doubting that I could easily raise the sum. Fifty paces distant was my new house--that is, Jonathan's. My old friend Ebenezer, the father of the maid Ellen, was standing before it, looking up to the carpenters, who were nailing the shingles on the roof. "Ebenezer," said I, "thee is my friend--does thee know I am on the brink of ruin?" "Very sorry," said Ebenezer--"all the town-talk; looked for nothing better. Perhaps thee will sell the house--pho! I forgot; thee gave it to Jonathan." "Ebenezer Wild," said I, "if thee is my friend, lend me that twenty thousand dollars. It will save me from ruin." "Really, Mr. Longstraw," said Ebenezer Wild, (who was no Quaker, though his father had been before him), "I am surprised a reasonable man should make such a request. I have told you twenty times you would ruin yourself by your cursed philanthropy--can't consent to be ruined with you. Pity you, Mr. Longstraw--awfully swindled; wonder you could trust such a knave as Abel Snipe--sorry to hear matters look so black for Jonathan--thought better of him--quite unnatural to be defrauded by one's own flesh and blood." What Ebenezer meant by his concluding remarks I did not, at that moment, understand. But I comprehended them well enough when I had run to five or six other friends, rich men like him, all of whom treated my request to borrow with as little respect, while all wound up their commonplace condolings by assuring me, first, that Abel Snipe had swindled me; and, secondly, that there was much reason to believe my nephew Jonathan had done the same thing.