"Just say to Mr. Carlton," he replied, "that it is not my purpose to give him any trouble about this matter. I will take up the due-bills. But I have some heavy payments to make, and cannot do it just now." "When will it be done?" "That I am unable, just now, to say." "Can't you give me a part of the money today?" Ellis shook his head. "I have notes in bank, and they must take the precedence of all other payments." "To-morrow, then?" "I have five hundred dollars to pay to-morrow." The man's countenance began to lower. "Just go to Mr. Carlton, if you please, and tell him what I say. He's a man of common sense;--he will listen to reason." "My orders to collect were imperative," persisted the man. "Tell him that you can't collect to-day. That I must and will have time. There now! Go! I've something else to do besides arguing this matter fruitlessly." The collector turned off with an angry, threatening look. A few minutes after he was gone, and ere the mind of Ellis had recovered its balance, a customer called in and paid a bill of a hundred dollars. This awakened a feeling of confidence; and, in a hopeful spirit, Ellis went forth to make arrangements for the balance of what was wanted for the day. He found no difficulty in procuring the sum he needed, which was four hundred dollars. After taking up his note, he called upon his friend Wilkinson with the two hundred dollars he had failed to return the day before, when, after apologizing for his neglect, he asked him how he would be off in regard to money matters during the ensuing two weeks. "Tight as a drum," was answered. "I'm sorry to hear that," replied Ellis, showing more disappointment than he wished to appear; "for I have made some calculation on you. I have nearly two thousand dollars to take care of in the next ten days." "I wish I could help you. But, indeed, I can not," said Wilkinson, looking serious. "I have been a good deal crowded of late, and shall have my hands full, and more than full for some time to come. I never knew money so tight as it is just now." "Nor I neither. Well, I suppose we shall get through somehow. But I must own that things look dark." "The darkest hour is just before the break of day," said Wilkinson, with an earnestness that expressed his faith in what he said. His faith was born of a resolution to separate himself from all dangerous companionship and habits, and a deeply felt conviction of the all-sustaining strength of his wife's self-denying affection. "Yes--yes--so the proverb says, and so the poet sings," returned Ellis, thoughtfully. "This seems to be my darkest hour. God grant it be only the precursor of day!" "Amen!" The solemn response of Wilkinson was involuntary. "And so you can't help me?" said Ellis, recovering himself, and speaking in a more cheerful voice. "Indeed I cannot." "Well, help will come, I suppose. There is nothing like trying. So good morning. Time is too precious to waste just now."