“I don’t want to get into trouble,” said Phipps.

“Phipps,” said Mr. Belcher, in a conciliatory tone, “I don’t intend that you shall get into trouble.”

Then, rising, and patting his servant on the shoulder, he added: 

“But it all depends on your standing by me, and standing by yourself.  You know that you will lose nothing by standing by the General, Phipps; you know me.”

Phipps was not afraid of crime; he was only afraid of its possible consequences; and Mr. Belcher’s assurance of safety, provided he should remember his story and adhere to it, was all that he needed to confirm him in the determination to do what Mr. Belcher wished him to do.

After Phipps retired, Mr. Belcher took out his document again, and looked it over for the hundredth time.  He recompared the signatures which he had forged with their originals.  Consciously a villain, he regarded himself still as a man who was struggling for his rights.  But something of his old, self-reliant courage was gone.  He recognized the fact that there was one thing in the world more powerful than himself.  The law was against him.  Single-handed, he could meet men; but the great power which embodied the justice and strength of the State awed him, and compelled him into a realization of his weakness.

The next morning Mr. Belcher received his brokers and operators in bed in accordance with his custom.  He was not good-natured.  His operations in Wall street had not been prosperous for several weeks.  In some way, impossible to be foreseen by himself or his agents, everything had worked against him He knew that if he did not rally from this passage of ill-luck, he would, in addition to his loss of money, lose something of his prestige.  He had a stormy time with his advisers and tools, swore a great deal, and sent them off in anything but a pleasant frame of mind.

Talbot was waiting in the drawing-room when the brokers retired, and followed his card upstairs, where he found his principal with an ugly frown upon his face.

“Toll,” he whimpered, “I’m glad to see you.  You’re the best of ’em all, and in the long run, you bring me the most money.”

“Thank you,” responded the factor, showing his white teeth in a gratified smile.

“Toll, I’m not exactly ill, but I’m not quite myself.  How long it will last I don’t know, but just this minute the General is devilish unhappy, and would sell himself cheap.  Things are not going right.  I don’t sleep well.”

“You’ve got too much money,” suggested Mr. Talbot.

“Well, what shall I do with it?”

“Give it to me.”

“No, I thank you; I can do better.  Besides, you are getting more than your share of it now.”

“Well, I don’t ask it of you,” said Talbot, “but if you wish to get rid of it, I could manage a little more of it without trouble.”

“Toll, look here!  The General wants to place a little money where it will bring him some reputation with the highly respectable old dons,—­our spiritual fathers, you know—­and the brethren.  Understand?”