Leading men had predicted the inevitability of “a general smash” should things thus continue, yet none were, of course, able to divine in which direction the storm might first break out. When it was known on ’Change, therefore, that Sir Andrew’s office was unable to meet its liabilities many raised their hands and eyes in wonder, and exclaimed— “Who’d a believed it?” This was poor consolation to old Moss the Jew, and other persons interested in the settlement of Mr. Redgill’s affairs. With a stooping gait, shrivelled face and hands, old Moss journeyed to and fro in an undeniable state of despair, and was in such a rage that he ordered his agent to turn every poor devil out of his numerous tenements who had not paid every farthing of their rents. Sitting in his lonely, dirty office, without fire, or comfort of any kind, he gathered himself into a heap in a large, old arm-chair, and looked like some wild animal in wait for its prey. Hour after hour he there sat, thinking of the past, and cursing every one in any way connected with his losses. He cursed both the living and the dead, with an earnestness and an enthusiasm which greatly relieved his pent-up feelings. To such an extent had his loss preyed upon him, that his face had become like a livid corpse. He stalked through his dusty, dingy offices like one possessed by the devil, and when an unfortunate servant poked in her head from the back room, to ask a question, Moss raised a heavy ledger with great energy, and threw it at her. “So Sir Andrew has returned to town again, has he? Ha, ha! Oh, he’s a nice gentleman—the intended father-in-law of that young vagabond, Redgill, eh? I see the scheme! No wonder the insurance office couldn’t pay its lawful debts! I know what their plans are. I’ll go and see him. I will see him; he can’t fool me, old as I am. I’ll tell him what I think of him. I’ll have my money, or I’ll see why!” cursed old Moss, walking about like a maniac. The furious old Jew put on his tattered overcoat, buttoned it up to the throat, and with a good thick stick in his hand, trudged off towards Sir Andrew’s residence. The servant said his master was engaged, and could not be seen. Mr. Moss would take no denial. He would see him, and without further ceremony flourished his stick at the footman’s head, and made his way upstairs to the library. As he stood at the door, he heard the sounds of several voices, high in oath and angry altercation. He entered quietly, took a seat near the door, and, finding the gentlemen to be creditors like himself, soon took part in their grievances, and opened an extra broadside of abuse upon the unfortunate Sir Andrew McTurk. Sir Andrew, in his easy chair, one leg over the other, played with his watch-chain and seals in the coolest manner imaginable. This was one of those occasions in life which “try men’s souls,” and call forth their Christian virtues in bold relief against the revilings of an angry audience.