“Security--bail!” exclaimed Dalton. “You might as well ask Robinson Crusoe who 'd be godfather to his child on the desert island. There's not a man, woman, or child in the place would give me a meal's meat There's not a house I could shelter my head in for one night; and see now,” cried he, carried away by an impulse of passionate excitement, “it is n't by way of disparagement I say it to this little town,--for the world all over is the same,--the more you give the less you get! Treat them with champagne and venison; send money to this one, make presents to that, and the day luck turns with you, the best word they 'll have for you is, 'He was a wasteful, careless devil; could n't keep it when he had it; lived always above his means; all hand and mouth.' It's a kind friend that will vouchsafe as much as 'Poor fellow! I 'm sorry for him.'” “And to what end is wealth,” cried Hans, boldly, “if it but conduce to this? Are the friends well chosen who can behave thus? Are the hospitalities well bestowed that meet such return? or is it not rather selfishness is paid back in the same base coin that it uttered?” “For the matter of that,” said Dalton, angrily, “I never found that vulgar people was a bit more grateful than their betters, nor low manners any warranty for high principles; and when one is to be shipwrecked it's better to go down in a 'seventy-four' than be drowned out of a punt in a mill-pond.” “It's past noon already,” said Hans, pointing to the son-dial on his house. “There 's little time to be lost.” “And as little to be gained,” muttered Dalton, moodily, as he strolled out into the garden. “Let me have this paper,” said Hans; “I will see the Herr Kraus myself, and try if something cannot be done. With time, I suppose, you could meet this claim?” “To be sure I could, when my remittances arrive,----when my instalments are paid up, when my rents come in, when--” He was about to add, “when luck changes,” but he stopped himself just in time. “There need be no difficulty if you can be certain,” said Hans, slowly. “Certain!--and of what is a man certain in this life?” said Dalton, in his tone of moralizing. “Was n't I certain of the Corrig-O'Neal estate? Wasn't I certain of Miles Dalton's property in the funds? Wasn't I certain that if the Parliament was n't taken away from us that I 'd have my own price for the boroagh of Knocknascanelera?--and sorrow one of the three ever came to me. Ay, no later than last night, was n't I certain that black would come up--” “When I said certain,” broke in Hans, “I meant so far as human foresight could pledge itself; but I did not speak of the chances of the play-table. If your expectations of payment rest on these, do not talk of them as certainties.” “What's my estates for? Where's my landed property?” cried Dalton, indignantly. “To hear you talk, one would think I was a chevalier of indhustry, as they call them.”