Having reached the logical end of the first and last speech ever made in public by Captain Tonkins, the Captain tumbled out of his sleigh, and sprawled upon the snow; whereat the bystanders shouted for joy, and the widow Slapman and two large windows full of guests shook with laughter.

“’S pla-at-form fall’n’?” asked the Captain.

“Yes,” replied one of the citizens, humoring the idea; “the platform gave way, and you tumbled to the ground.”

“I—­I’no’ who di’t,” resumed the Captain.  “Them Mulca’men.  They saw-awed posts.”  Here the Captain descried two widow Slapmans smiling on him from a window, and gallantly kissed his hand at them.

His heavy body was tumbled into the rear of the sleigh, a buffalo robe thrown over it, and Captain Tonkins was then unconsciously borne toward the bosom of his family, in Minetta lane (a friend officiating as driver), amid the cheers of his late audience.

The three bachelors were satiated with their day’s experiences.  They raised their hats to Mrs. Slapman, still laughing at the window, and walked smartly home.  Mr. Quigg, deriving much comfort from the thought that Captain Tonkins had not been paid for his sleigh, and would not be, hastened to a neighboring stable, hired the only remaining team, and continued his round of calls, giving one minute to each.

BOOK SECOND.

POLISHING.

CHAPTER I.

THE ENIGMA.

Marcus Wilkeson’s new acquaintance throve rapidly.  Mr. Minford’s dealings with the world had made him shy and suspicious, and he was at first disposed to keep his benevolent visitor at a safe business distance.  But the heart of the thoughtful mechanic could not long resist the kind and earnest sympathy of the man who sought to be his friend.

With a caution born of experience, however, Mr. Minford, before admitting the new guest to his full confidence, called upon a number of Wall street brokers and South street merchants, to whom Marcus had referred him, and learned from them that that gentleman bore a reputation of the rarest honor and purity of character.  While giving this united testimony, however, they all agreed in condemning Mr. Wilkeson’s eccentricity—­insanity, one broker called it—­in retiring from business at the very moment when he was most successful, and had a great fortune within easy reach.  The fact that he had retired with one hundred and fifty thousand dollars, instead of mitigating his offence in the eyes of those critics, increased it.  “Why,” said a noted bear, “with that amount of capital, and Wilkeson’s first-rate talents—­when he chose to use them—­he might have become the king of Wall street.  It’s a pity so smart a fellow should make a wreck of himself.”  And the bear heaved a sigh of commiseration; which was by no means echoed by Mr. Minford, who gathered, from all this evidence, an increased esteem for his benefactor.