in its effect upon the youth of the republic, and as lowering the tone of public morals.  And yet it was remembered that he had been a frank, open-hearted friend, kind to his family, and generous in contrast with some of his close-fisted contemporaries.  There was nothing mean about him; even his rascalities, if you chose to call his transactions by that name, were on a grand scale.  To be sure, he would let nothing stand between him and the consummation of his schemes—­he was like Napoleon in that—­but those who knew him personally liked him.  The building up of his colossal fortune—­which the newspapers were saying was the largest that had been accumulated in one lifetime in America—­had ruined thousands of people, and carried disaster into many peaceful houses, and his sudden death had been a cyclone of destruction for an hour.  But it was hardly fair, one journal pointed out, to hold Henderson responsible for his untimely death.

Even Jack Delancy, when the crushing news was brought him at the club, where he sat talking with Major Fairfax, although he saw his own ruin in a flash, said, “It wouldn’t have happened if Henderson had lived.”

“Not so soon,” replied the Major, hesitatingly.

“Do you mean to say that Henderson and Mavick and Mrs. Henderson would have thrown me over?”

“Why, no, not exactly; but a big machine grinds on regardless, and when the crash comes everybody looks out for himself.”

“I think I’ll telegraph to Mavick.”

“That wouldn’t do any good now.  He couldn’t have stopped the panic.  I tell you what, you’d better go down to your brokers and see just how matters stand.”

And the two went down to Wall Street.  It was after hours, but the brokers’ office was full of excitement.  No one knew what was left from the storm, nor what to expect.  It was some time before Jack could get speech with one of the young men of the firm.

“How is it?” he asked.

“It’s been a——­of a time.”

“And Henderson?”

“Oh, his estate is all right, so far as we know.  He was well out of the Missouris.”

“And the Missouri?”

“Bottom dropped out; temporarily, anyway.”

“And my account?”

“Wiped out, I am sorry to say.  Might come up by-and-by, if you’ve got a lot of money to put up, and wait.”

“Then it’s all up,” said Jack, turning to the Major.  He was very pale.  He knew now that his fortune was gone absolutely—­house, everything.

Few words were exchanged as they made their way back to the club.  And here the Major did a most unusual thing for him.  He ordered the drinks.  But he did this delicately, apologetically.

“I don’t know as you care for anything, but Wall Street has made me thirsty.  Eh?”

“I don’t mind if I do,” Jack replied.

And they sat down.

The conversation was not cheerful; it was mainly ejaculatory.  After a second glass, Jack said, “I don’t suppose it would do any good, but I should like to see Mavick.”  And then, showing the drift of his thoughts, “I wonder what Carmen will do?”