"Well, there is no use in lamenting, and just as little in the consolation of thinking how the loss might have been avoided." "I don't know. I don't admit that. I am not to be deprived of the rights of a freeborn American. The 'I told-you-so' is a fine balm for all sorts of wounds,--rather more soothing to physician than patient, perhaps. Combined with the 'You-might-have-known-it,' it gets up a wholesome blister in the least possible time, especially where 'a raw' has been established previously." "I don't think I was prudent." "Of course not; if you had been, you wouldn't have lost. There are no such things as mistakes in the world.--But to look at affairs. _Imprimis_.--Lindsay smashed, house closed, salary stopped." "I suppose so." "_Item_,--private funds gone; owner taken in by the patent-safe game. "_Item_,--dwelling-house standing; so much gain,--but "_Item_,--the dweller is not alone, having other mouths to feed. "But don't be discouraged. I don't doubt you will find something to do in good time." "But when is the good time coming? I must earn something at once." "The danger of being made to work isn't pressing. Ships will have time to get well rested. Truckmen are actually growing civil with a little starvation. The beggars don't hold out their hands for coppers; they make more money by hauling out their old stockings and lending at five per cent. a month." "You will laugh me out of my misery in spite of myself." "I hope so; but I am not sure that a man can be laughed out of a thing he wasn't laughed into. Now, Monroe, I am going to surprise you. I am going to bore you, annoy you; for I am to see you every day for the next week. Can you bear it? I shall be worse than the balm of 'I-told-you-so.'" Monroe pressed his friend's hand. "Come, by all means. And now we are near my house; go in and take tea with us." "No, not to-day. It is _dies nefastus_. Good-bye!" Twirling his grizzly moustaches and humming to himself, Easelmann turned back. He did not go to his room, however, but went down a quiet street, apparently guided by instinct, and rang the bell at a well-known door. "Is Mr. Holworthy at home?" The servant-girl nodded and smiled, and Easelmann entered. Mr. Holworthy was emphatically at home, for he was on all-fours, his three children riding cock-horse, with merry shouts, varied by harmless tumbles and laborious clamberings up. Mr. Holworthy rose with a flushed and happy face, and the children rushed at once to clasp the knees of their familiar old friend. "We all have to come down at times, I believe," said Mr. Holworthy, smoothing the few thin hairs on his handsomely arched crown. "Certainly; a man that can't be a boy with his children deserves to have none. Now the reason I am a bachelor is that I feared I could never unbend, being somewhat remarkable for my perpendic"--