fellow, with tears in his voice, if not in his eyes,
"much less one whom I have eaten and drunk
with, and looked upon as my friend. What do
you mean when you say that I have ruined you?"

"Simply, that we shall be in the Gazette
to-morrow. You understand that, I suppose?"

The coarse nature of the man had all come to
the surface under this powerful test, and he took
no pains to hide it. He was literally drunk with
rage. Saxon, however, saw his condition, and,
ignorant as he was of human nature, by some fine
instinct understood and pitied it.

"But why need the withdrawal of this sum
work you so much evil?" he said, gently. "You
are surely no worse off without it to-day than
you were yesterday."

"This is why—since you will have it! We
wanted money—money and time—for we have
met with some ugly losses that we didn't choose
to tell the world about; and we knew we could
pull through, if we had the chance."

"Well?"

"Well, there are three or four firms that have
heavy claims upon us, and are getting troublesome.
Relying on your cheque, I wrote to them
last night, and desired them to draw upon us any
time after one o'clock to-day. They will draw—
and the bank will stop payment."

Saxon sprang to his feet, and seized the cheque,
which was still lying where the banker had
thrown it.

"No, no," he cried, "not through my act,
Greatorex—Heaven forbid! How much do you
want, to meet these claims to-day?"

"There's one of twenty-two thousand six
hundred and forty-five pounds," said the other,
still sullenly, but in an altered tone. "That's
the heaviest. Another of eighteen thousand
two hundred and three fifteen; one of ten thousand;
and one of seven thousand, nine hundred
and eleven. Fifty-eight thousand seven hundred
and fifty-nine pounds fifteen shillings, in all."

Saxon flew to the bell, and rang it furiously.

"A Hansom from the stand, Gillingwater,"
said he, "and choose the best horse among
them." Then, snatching up his hat—"Greatorex,"
he added, "I would drive you to Drummond's
this instant, if I could; but I won't break
my word. I gave William my solemn promise
last night to do nothing without consulting him,
and I must go down to Chancery-lane first.
But you shall have the money long enough
before one—nay, don't shake your head. It
still wants twenty minutes to eleven, and I'll
be back in three-quarters of an hour!"

"Pooh!" said the banker, impatiently. "I
dare say you mean it; but he won't let you do
it. I know him."

Saxon's eyes flashed.

"Then you don't know me," said he. "The
money is my own, and I swear you shall have it.
How much do you say it is?"

"Fifty-eight thousand seven hundred and . . ."

"Then fifty-nine thousand will do, and that's
easier to remember. Come, old fellow, jump
into my cab with me. I can take you as far as
Chancery-lane, and you'll see me back in Lombard
-street before one o'clock."

ABOARD A "BANKER."

Who ever heard of Marblehead save the
initiated in dried codfish?

Not many years ago, then, I chanced to be
staying in the post town of Marblehead, situated
in the county of Massachusetts, a short distance
north-east of Boston, a quaint little place
pleasantly perched on a rocky peninsula, its harbour
being accessible at all seasons to vessels of the
largest tonnage. The inhabitants, which number
about six thousand, are nearly all engaged
in the cod-fisheries; over a hundred vessels
regularly start about the first of every May for
the banks of Newfoundland, to fish for cod and
mackerel. After a great deal of bargaining, I
managed to secure a passage on board a
"banker," the Lively Polly, a small fore-and-
aft rigged rakish schooner, famed as the fastest
craft out of Massachusetts Bay, or as Captain
Zach expressed it, "Jist a kinder gal as could
show her starn to any pinkey afloat."

There are two systems of fitting out these
vessels: one, a family affair, where the father, with
his sons and relatives, jointly take shares in and
together build a vessel during the winter months;
manning her themselves, they manage to make
and complete their voyage between spring and
autumn, returning in time for the harvest, all the
profits being then equally divided. The harvest
finished, another short trip is made; the cargo,
if a fortunate venture, is salted and dried for
their own use during the winter, the fish so
cured being usually styled "mud fish." The
other mode, and the one generally adopted, is
for an owner to charter a vessel to ten or twelve
men on shares, the owner, who is frequently the
captain, finding all nets, provisions, salt, hooks,
lines, and tackle, the men paying a regular tariff
for their share of each article consumed. The
profits, if any, are then divided.

On a bright May morning we hauled away from
the wharf; the flapping mainsail was soon apeak,
and with a freshening breeze we shot away
towards the entrance of the harbour. Our skipper
was the beau ideal of a hardy fisherman; light-
hearted, contented, having a careless dependance
on luck, ever ready to look on the sunny side of
life, and catch at whatever might present itself in
the way of pleasure whilst pursuing his hazardous
calling. Our crew consisted of twelve stout,
sturdy, iron-fisted salts, full of life, and ready to
indulge in any practical joke; all, to a man, good
fishermen and able sailors. The cook was a
negro from Guinea, nicknamed Old Ivory, from
his shining ebon skin and large red lips, the
boundaries to a mouth of hippopotamus-like
capacity, contrasting remarkably with two rows
of ivory-white teeth, frequently displayed even
to the last molar.

Seven bankers accompanied us, and, as we
passed a jutting rock (that has some supposed