Each night Barrifield had some one in view who would certainly come to the rescue on the morrow. Each night it was a different one. The rescuer of the night before had just invested his capital, was just about to do so, or had just lost largely on some former investment. Rushly of the "Home," and President Bright of Bright & Sons' Stellar, were both enthusiastic over the opportunity, and would certainly mention it to their friends. For themselves, it was, unfortunately, out of the question for the present. Rushly had purchased stock in his own paper. President Bright, in conjunction with his sons, had made large additions to their factory, etc. Truly, capital _was_ timid--unusually so. Still Barrifield did not despair wholly. He gave a dinner, at last, to a number of men who were believed to have more or less capital at their command. At this dinner he set forth his plan in the most magnetic manner and glowing terms. His speech made a decided sensation. Almost to a man his guests declared it a good thing. One of them, the next morning, more conscientious than the others,--a noble spirit, in fact,--sent in his check for ten dollars--the first assessment on a single share. And so the weeks dragged on. Subsequent rounds of the first issue were handled with no appreciable difficulty by the Colonel and his two assistants, and "the first round of the second issue" they managed to obtain from the printers in fairly decent season. But the third number dragged--dragged horribly--dragged until those who had subscribed began to write letters of inquiry that were not always polite. The "man with his sleeves rolled up" came to the rescue at last on this issue. He let them have it without the check. He even delivered the papers to the post-office for them, and advanced the postage from his own purse. Matters being now sufficiently desperate, Perner urged daily that they turn their subscriptions over to some other publication to fill, and quit, short off. He was getting frightfully pinched for means, and the others, except Barrifield, no less so. Barrifield still had his salary. To be sure, they now had time in which to do some outside work, but the market had changed during the year, and it seemed almost impossible to dispose of matter which a year before the editors had fought for. "Why, a year ago," grumbled Perner, "my quatrains used to be legal tender anywhere on Park Row for a dollar. Now they want to charge me advertising rates to print them." "Same with pictures," echoed Van Dorn. "My opinion is that a lot of us will be back plowing corn next spring." "It's a good while till spring," reflected Livingstone, gloomily. He was working on his painting a good deal these days, and perhaps getting truer feelings into it because of his own despair.