The scheme to which he reverted in the first bitter moments of his loss could have originated in no brain less unscrupulous than his own.  He would repeat the game that had been so successful at Sevenoaks.  To do this, he only needed to call into action his tools on the street and in the management.

In the midst of his schemes, the bell rang at the door, and Talbot was announced.  Mr. Belcher was always glad to see him, for he had no association with his speculations.  Talbot had uniformly been friendly and ready to serve him.  In truth, Talbot was almost his only friend.

“Toll, have you heard the news?”

“About the International Mail?”

“Yes.”

“I’ve heard something of it, and I’ve come around this morning to get the facts.  I shall be bored about them all day by your good friends, you know.”

“Well, Toll, I’ve had a sweat.”

“You’re not crippled?”

“No, but I’ve lost every dollar I have made since I’ve been in the city.  Jones has gone under; Pell has gone under.  Cramp & Co. will have to make a statement, and get a little time, but they will swim.  The General is the only man of the lot who isn’t shaken.  But, Toll, it’s devilish hard.  It scares me.  A few more such slices would spoil my cheese.”

“Well, now, General, why do you go into these things at all?  You are making money fast enough in a regular business.”

“Ah, but it’s tame, tame, tame!  I must have excitement.  Theatres are played out, horses are played out, and suppers raise the devil with me.”

“Then take it easy.  Don’t risk so much.  You used to do this sort of thing well—­used to do it right every time.  You got up a good deal of reputation for foresight and skill.”

“I know, and every man ruined in the International Mail will curse me.  I led them into it.  I shall have a sweet time in Wall street when I go there again.  But it’s like brandy; a man wants a larger dose every time, and I shall clean them out yet.”

Talbot’s policy was to make the General last.  He wanted to advise him for his good, because his principal’s permanent prosperity was the basis of his own.  He saw that he was getting beyond control, and, under an exterior of compliance and complaisance, he was genuinely alarmed.

“Toll,” said Mr. Belcher, “you are a good fellow.”

“Thank you, General,” said the factor, a smile spreading around his shining teeth.  “My wife will be glad to know it.”

“By the way—­speaking of your wife—­have you seen anything of Mrs. Dillingham lately?”

“Nothing.  She is commonly supposed to be absorbed by the General.”

“Common Supposition is a greater fool than I wish it were.”

“That won’t do, General.  There never was a more evident case of killing at first sight than that.”

“Well, Toll, I believe the woman is fond of me, but she has a queer way of showing it.  I think she has changed.  It seems so to me, but she’s a devilish fine creature.  Ah, my heart! my heart!  Toll.”