On the third afternoon, Aynesworth met on the stairs a young broker, whom he had come across once or twice during his earlier dealings in the shares. They had had lunch together, and Aynesworth had taken a fancy to the boy--he was little more--fresh from Harvard and full of enthusiasm. He scarcely recognized him for a moment. The fresh color had gone from his cheeks, his eyes were set in a fixed, wild stare; he seemed suddenly aged. Aynesworth stopped him. “Hullo, Nesbitt!” he exclaimed. “What’s wrong?” The young man would have passed on with a muttered greeting, but Aynesworth turned round with him, and led the way into one of the smaller smoking rooms. He called for drinks and repeated his question. “Your governor has me six hundred Hardwells short,” Nesbitt answered curtly. “Six hundred! What does it mean?” Aynesworth asked. “Sixty thousand dollars, or thereabouts,” the young man answered despairingly. “His brokers won’t listen to me, and your governor--well, I’ve just been to see him. I won’t call him names! And we thought that some fool of an Englishman was burning his fingers with those shares. I’m not the only one caught, but the others can stand it. I can’t, worse luck!” “I’m beastly sorry,” Aynesworth said truthfully. “I wish I could help you.” Nesbitt raised his head. A sudden light flashed in his eyes; he spoke quickly, almost feverishly. “Say, Aynesworth,” he exclaimed, “do you think you could do anything with your governor for me? You see--it’s ruin if I have to pay up. I wouldn’t mind--for myself, but I was married four months ago, and I can’t bear the thought of going home--and telling her. All the money we have between us is in my business, and we’ve got no rich friends or anything of that sort. I don’t know what I’ll do if I have to be hammered. I’ve been so careful, too! I didn’t want to take this on, but it seemed such a soft thing! If I could get off with twenty thousand, I’d keep my head up. I hate to talk like this. I’d go down like a man if I were alone, but--but--oh! Confound it all--!” he exclaimed with an ominous break in his tone. Aynesworth laid his hand upon the boy’s arm. “Look here,” he said, “I’ll try what I can do with Mr. Wingrave. Wait here!” Aynesworth found his employer alone with his broker, who was just hastening off to keep an appointment. He plunged at once into his appeal. “Mr. Wingrave,” he said, “you have just had a young broker named Nesbitt on.” Wingrave glanced at a paper by his side. “Yes,” he said. “Six hundred short! I wish they wouldn’t come to me.” “I’ve been talking to him downstairs,” Aynesworth said. “This will break him.” “Then I ought not to have done business with him at all,” Wingrave said coolly. “If he cannot find sixty thousand dollars, he has no right to be in Wall street. I daresay he’ll pay, though! They all plead poverty--curs!”