crumbled; Bradley was the last kick, but the blamed business just MELTED. I give the liabilities; it’s supposed they’re all in; for the cowards were waiting, and the claims were filed like taking tickets to hear Patti.  I don’t quite have the hang of the assets yet, our interests were so extended; but I am at it day and night, and I guess will make a creditable dividend.  If the wreck pans out only half the way it ought, we’ll turn the laugh still.  I am as full of grit and work as ever, and just tower above our troubles.  Mamie is a host in herself.  Somehow I feel like it was only me that had gone bust, and you and she soared clear of it.  Hurry up.  That’s all you have to do.

“Yours ever,

“J.  PINKERTON.”

The third was yet more altered:—­

“My poor Loudon,” it began, “I labour far into the night getting our affairs in order; you could not believe their vastness and complexity.  Douglas B. Longhurst said humorously that the receiver’s work would be cut out for him.  I cannot deny that some of them have a speculative look.  God forbid a sensitive, refined spirit like yours should ever come face to face with a Commissioner in Bankruptcy; these men get all the sweetness knocked right out of them.  But I could bear up better if it weren’t for press comments.  Often and often, Loudon, I recall to mind your most legitimate critiques of the press system.  They published an interview with me, not the least like what I said, and with JEERING comments; it would make your blood boil, it was literally INHUMANE; I wouldn’t have written it about a yellow dog that was in trouble like what I am.  Mamie just winced, the first time she has turned a hair right through the whole catastrophe.  How wonderfully true was what you said long ago in Paris, about touching on people’s personal appearance!  The fellow said—­” And then these words had been scored through; and my distressed friend turned to another subject.  “I cannot bear to dwell upon our assets.  They simply don’t show up.  Even Thirteen Star, as sound a line as can be produced upon this coast, goes begging.  The wreck has thrown a blight on all we ever touched.  And where’s the use?  God never made a wreck big enough to fill our deficit.  I am haunted by the thought that you may blame me; I know how I despised your remonstrances.  O, Loudon, don’t be hard on your miserable partner.  The funny-dog business is what kills.  I fear your stern rectitude of mind like the eye of God.  I cannot think but what some of my books seem mixed up; otherwise, I don’t seem to see my way as plain as I could wish to.  Or else my brain is gone soft.  Loudon, if there should be any unpleasantness, you can trust me to do the right thing and keep you clear.  I’ve been telling them already, how you had no business grip and never saw the books.  O, I trust I have done right in this!  I knew it was a liberty; I know you may justly complain; but it was some things that were said.  And mind you, all legitimate business!  Not even your shrinking sensitiveness could find fault with the first look of one of them, if they had panned out right.  And you know, the Flying Scud was the biggest gamble of the crowd, and that was your own idea.  Mamie says she never could bear to look you in the face, if that idea had been mine, she is SO conscientious!