The old man continued:  “I ’member once when we met in the street, about two years ago—­”

“I used to come around this way, you must know, Uncle Ith, in order to meet you, two or three times a week.”

“I give you credit for that, Bog.  You never disowned your poor old uncle.  But, as I was sayin’, I ’member one time when we met, that you told me somethin’ about the murder of somebody of your ’quaintance.  But I didn’t take no partickler interest in it, because I didn’t know any of the parties concerned.  And, of course, I didn’t dream that poor Mr. Minford was the man I had seen workin’ away there for three years.  But the main fault is mine, because I don’t take the papers.  I see, now, that every man ought to take the papers—­if only as a duty to his feller man.”  Uncle Ith coughed, as one who utters a maxim of great moral depth.

It was then agreed, at Bog’s suggestion, that Uncle Ith, accompanied by him, should call at Overtop’s office, at early business hours (when Uncle Ith was off duty), next day, and consult upon the best course to be adopted to make his testimony public, and set the mystery of Mr. Minford’s death forever at rest.

This having been done, Bog and Pet withdrew, and had hardly reached the foot of the tower, when the musical thunder of the great bell announced the constantly reiterated story of a fire in the Seventh—­that most combustible of all the city districts.

CHAPTER III.

LOVE CROWNED.

Late on a fair afternoon of May, wedding guests began to assemble at old Van Quintem’s house.  The old gentleman had been out of society many years; and he improved this happy occasion to bring together his few surviving relatives, and friends of his former business days.

Heavy antique carriages rolled up to the door, with retired merchants and their wives.  The retired merchants were of a pattern not altogether extinct in New York, who, at the ages of sixty years and upward, had cleared their skirts of business, and settled down to a calm retrospect of the past, and serene anticipations of the future.  They were evidently destined for a good old age, and had fat pocket books to help them through.  The proper place to look for this class of retired merchants is on the tax books, and not in public assemblies, or among the Directing Boards of benevolent institutions.  They are good, charitable souls; but, having got out of business, they desire to keep out of it literally, leaving to a younger generation the task of managing men and affairs.

A more stylish vehicle deposited at the door a bachelor Bank President, who was not only the old personal friend of the host, but his trusted adviser in business affairs.  The parlor of the ——­ Bank was one of the few places that old Van Quintem still visited in the bustling haunts of the city; and to old Van Quintem’s house the bachelor Bank President made monthly pilgrimages of friendship.  He was a handsome man of fifty, with long white hair, which matched beautifully with his yet ruddy cheeks, and a figure portly and full of strength.  Nobody but himself knew why so eligible a man remained a bachelor.