IN THE hall Mr. Jones met his landlady. The sight of her seemed to recall something to his mind, for he quickly thrust his hand into his pocket, and said as he approached:

“I am ashamed of myself, Mrs. Willis, but I never thought of it before, I assure you.”

“Why, what do you mean, Mr. Jones?” asked the lady in surprise.

“I mean that, contrary to my usual custom, I have neglected to pay my week’s board.”

“Pray don’t mention it,” said Mrs. Willis, accepting the bill her lodger tendered her. “If I had needed the money I should not have hesitated to ask for it. But, Mr. Jones, I am really afraid that I shall have to speak to your friend, Guy.”

The commercial traveler spread out his feet, placed his hands behind his back, and gazed fixedly at the oil-cloth on the floor, but had nothing to say.

“It isn’t the money I care for,” said the landlady, “but I can see very plainly that Guy is getting into bad habits. He is going to ruin as fast as he can, and I think it is your duty to advise him to do better.”

“I do, Mrs. Willis; indeed I do, very frequently,” replied Jones, in a sorrowful voice; “but I find that it is of no use. I have no more influence with him than I have with the wind. I am surprised to hear that he owes you,” he added, with some indignation in his tones, “but I know the reason for it. It isn’t because Guy isn’t able, or doesn’t want to pay, but simply because he is so careless. If you will take my advice you can get your money to-morrow.”

“What must I do?”

“Do as the rest of his creditors do—call upon him at the store. Suppose you come about six o’clock in the evening? You will be sure to find him in then.”

“Oh, I can’t do that,” said Mrs. Willis quickly. “I don’t want to dun Mr. Harris.”

“Of course not; you merely wish to remind him that he is in your debt, that’s all.”

“Why couldn’t I speak to him here and now?”

“You could, certainly, but it would do no good. He would promise faithfully to pay up at once, and never think of the matter again. He is just so forgetful. I really wish you could make it convenient to call on him to-morrow evening at six o’clock,” added Mr. Jones, “for by so doing you will benefit Guy as well as yourself. He will draw his quarter’s salary then, and if you can get your money out of him it will keep him from spending it for beer and billiards—a practice to which he has of late, I am sorry to say, become very much addicted.”

The argument was a clincher, and put all the good lady’s scruples to rout. She did not need the money, and neither did she want to dun Guy; but if by that means she could keep him from spending his hard earnings foolishly, it was her duty to do it. So she promised to follow Mr. Jones’ advice, and the latter, after begging her not to say a word to Guy concerning what had just passed between them, leisurely pulled on his gloves and left the house.

“There’s one hound I have put on your track, Mr. Harris,” muttered the commercial traveler when he had gained the street. “If I could only raise a suspicion in her mind that her money is in danger, wouldn’t she make things lively though? For good, fine, ornamental dunning, commend me to a mad landlady, who can do more of it in five minutes than any ten men can do in half an hour. I know, for I have had experience with them.”

With this reflection Mr. Jones pulled his coat collar up around his ears, for the evening air was chilly, and hurrying down Fourth Street turned into the door of a fashionable tailoring establishment. Meeting the proprietor as he entered he exclaimed:

“Now, Mr. Warren, I am quite sure that you were on the point of starting for my boarding-house to dun me for that bill I owe you. I am really ashamed of myself—but here’s the——”

“Halloo! what’s the matter with you, Jones?” interrupted the tailor. “Your bill is a mere trifle, not more than ten or fifteen dollars, and if I had wanted the money I should not have failed to let you know it. But, Jones, I intend to make you a present of that and more, too. You have recommended our house extensively during your travels, and in that way have helped us many a dollar. If you will step into the back part of the store we’ll take your measure and put you up a fine business suit.”

“You are very kind,” said Mr. Jones gratefully. “I accept your offer with thanks. I should like a new business suit, one something like that you made for Harris a few weeks ago. By the way, if it is a fair question, what did he pay you for it?”

“Not one dime,” said the merchant with a laugh.

“How? I don’t understand you.”

“I mean that we have never seen a cent of his money since he began trading with us.”

“Is it possible?” exclaimed Mr. Jones. “I declare I never saw that fellow’s equal for putting off things. Send your bill down to the store to-morrow evening at six o’clock, and give him a first-class overhauling.”

“Oh, I guess I won’t do that. He may be a little short just at present, and if he is I don’t want to press him. We are not in need of money.”

“But Guy isn’t short; he’s got plenty of funds.”

“Then perhaps I should make him angry, and that wouldn’t pay, for he’s a good customer.”

“No, you’ll not make him mad,” said Mr. Jones, “for he has got so in the habit of being dunned that he expects it, and never thinks of paying a bill without it. You’ll have to talk right up to him, for he is as full of excuses as an egg is of meat. He’s perfectly honest, but so peculiar. You needn’t tell him that I suggested this plan of operations to you.”

“Of course not,” said Mr. Warren.

The conversation ran on in this channel while the tailor was taking Mr. Jones’ measure, and the result was that the merchant announced his determination to send his bill to his debtor at the store on the following evening at six o’clock.

When Mr. Jones went out he bent his steps toward a livery stable, where a conversation of a like character with the above took place between him and the proprietor, and with the same result. Then he called at a billiard saloon, dropped into Dutch Jake’s for a moment, and wound up his walk by visiting a hat store and one or two furnishing establishments. Having then called upon all of Guy’s creditors, he lighted a cigar and strolled slowly homeward, well satisfied with his evening’s work. Guy’s debts amounted to two hundred and seventy-five dollars.

“He’ll never be able to pay them out of the salary he draws now,” thought Mr. Jones. “There are only two courses of action open to him, and no matter which one he chooses, he is doomed as surely as his name is Guy Harris. I ought to manage some way to bring this business to old Walker’s ears,” added Mr. Jones, stopping suddenly and looking down at the sidewalk in a brown study. “I have it. Hyslom is just the man. He is mean enough for anything.”

Mr. Jones turned, and hastily retracing his steps to a billiard saloon he had visited a few minutes before, beckoned to a seedy-looking man he found there, who followed him to the farthest corner of the room. A whispered conversation was carried on between them for a few moments, and was brought to a close by Mr. Jones, who slipped a five-dollar bill into the hand of his seedy companion and went out.

His plans against Guy were now all perfected, and making his way homeward with a light heart, he tumbled into bed and slept soundly beside his victim, who all the night long tossed uneasily about, never once closing his eyes in slumber.

Mr. Jones and the shipping clerk ate breakfast together the next morning as usual, and set out in company for the store. Neither of them referred to the matters that had been discussed the night before. They were so disagreeable that Guy did not want to talk about them if he could help it, and Mr. Jones was much too cunning to speak of them himself. He knew that the leaven was working, and he wanted to give it plenty of time.

When they reached the block in which the store was located, Mr. Jones begun casting anxious glances about, as if he were looking for some one. Presently he discovered a man, dressed in a shabby genteel suit of black, standing in a door-way on the opposite side of the street. This individual, seeing that Mr. Jones’ eyes were fastened upon him, nodded his head, slapped the breast-pocket of his coat, and made other signs which must have been perfectly intelligible to Mr. Jones, for he replied to them by various gestures of approval and delight.

Guy remained at the store but a few minutes—just long enough to receive some instructions from Mr. Walker—and then went out and hurried toward the levee.

As soon as he had disappeared, Mr. Jones walked to the door and flourished his handkerchief once or twice in the air; whereupon the shabby individual in the opposite door-way hurried down the sidewalk to the nearest crossing, came over to Mr. Jones’ side of the street, and with an air of bustle and business entered the store and inquired for Mr. Walker.

On being shown into the private office he placed his hat on the floor, and pulling out a memorandum-book, which was filled with papers, folded and endorsed like bills, said:

“You may have heard of me, Mr. Walker. My name is Hyslom, and my business is collecting bad debts. I am a professional dun, at your service. If it will not conflict with the rules of your establishment, I should like a few minutes’ interview with Mr. Harris.”

At this the merchant begun to prick up his ears.

“The shipping clerk is absent just now,” said he. “May I be allowed to inquire into the nature of your business with him?”

“Certainly, sir,” replied the pretended collector. “It is no more than right that you should be made acquainted with the habits of your employees. Mr. Harris, it seems, has been rather fast during the last few months, spending money with a lavish hand, and running in debt to livery stables, billiard saloons, tailoring establishments and beer gardens. I have bills against him to the amount of two hundred dollars and over. I am well aware of the fact that he is perfectly good, for as he is a very wealthy young man and a nephew of yours, I really——”

“Sir,” said the merchant, “Mr. Harris is no relation to me.”

“Indeed!” exclaimed the collector, starting up in his chair. “Then he is sailing under false colors. He says you are his uncle, and has repeatedly told his creditors to send their bills to you, and they would be settled.”

“I know nothing about his debts,” said Mr. Walker, greatly astonished. “You must see Mr. Harris himself. Good-day, sir.”

The bogus collector returned his memorandum-book to his pocket, picked up his hat, and bowing himself out of the private office, hurried through the store, and down the street, like a man driven to death with business.

Mr. Walker watched him as long as he was in sight, and then arose slowly to his feet.

“I expected better things of Guy than this,” said he to himself. “If I have been deceived in him I shall be tempted to distrust everybody. Where did he get the money he has been spending so foolishly? He must have used some belonging to the firm.”

So saying, Mr. Walker left his private office to begin a thorough investigation of Guy’s accounts.

Business went on as smoothly as usual in the store that day with everybody except Guy. He was kept so busy, both in doors and out, that he had but little time to devote to his troubles; but his work dragged heavily, and every thing he undertook seemed to go wrong end foremost. Six o’clock came at last, and while Guy, wearied in body and mind, was standing at the book-keeper’s desk, rendering an account of his day’s work, a clerk hurried up with the information that a lady had called to see him on private business.

“A lady—on private business?” repeated Guy. “I am not acquainted with any ladies in St. Louis.”

There was one lady, however, with whom he was pretty well acquainted, and that was Mrs. Willis; and she it was who had called to see him.

“Mr. Harris,” said she, as if she hardly knew how to make known her errand, “I have come to ask you if you could make it convenient to settle your board bill this evening?”

“No, ma’am, I cannot,” said Guy, reddening. “I have no money.”

“But you draw your quarter’s salary to-day, do you not?”

“No, ma’am. I haven’t a cent due me from the firm. I know this ought to have been paid long ago, Mrs. Willis, and I am sorry indeed that I have kept you waiting. I will hand you the very first dollar I get.”

It was plain that the landlady’s heart was not in the business. She had undertaken it merely from a sense of duty, and having, as she believed, fulfilled that duty, she was ready to drop the board bill and talk about something else.

After a few commonplace remarks about the weather, and the lively appearance of the streets, she bowed pleasantly to Guy and went out.

The clerk, feeling like a criminal, walked slowly back to the book-keeper’s desk, but scarcely had he reached it when he was informed that there was another visitor waiting to see him in the front part of the store.

This time it proved to be a gentleman—one of the clerks in the employ of the tailor he patronized so extensively. He shook Guy cordially by the hand, asked him how business was prospering, and produced a bill from his pocket-book.

“That’s the way you stand on our books,” said he, “and I thought I would drop in and see how you were fixed,” a slang expression for “see if you had any money.”

The clerk beat a tattoo with his fingers on the counter, whistled “Dixie,” and run his eyes about the store as if he were taking a mental inventory of the stock. He had been told by his employer that he might find it necessary to give Guy a good talking to, and he was screwing up his courage.

“Eighty-seven dollars!” exclaimed Guy, as he run his eye over the bill. “Impossible! The last time I spoke to Mr. Warren about my account he told me it was only fifty dollars.”

“But that suit of clothes you have on your back now came from our house since then,” said the clerk.

“That’s so,” returned Guy. “I forgot that. But it beats me how these bills do run up.”

“Yes; one can’t get dry goods for nothing in these times. Are you going to ante?”

“Not now. I can’t.”

“Oh, that’s played out. Come down!” said the clerk, extending his hand toward Guy and rapping his knuckles on the counter. “Short settlements make long friends. Pay me now.”

“But I tell you I can’t. I haven’t a cent of money.”

“Now, Harris,” said the clerk, raising his voice, “permit me to say that this thing is getting monotonous. If you don’t pay, and that too in short order, we’ll snatch you bald-headed.”

“Don’t talk so loud,” whispered Guy, in great excitement. “I’ll pay you as soon as I can. Tell Mr. Warren that I’ll call and see him about this bill.”

“All right. If you know which side of your bread is buttered you won’t waste time in doing it. The old man talks of sending your bill to Mr. Walker.”

The clerk departed, and his place was almost immediately filled by Dutch Jake, who entered with an air which said very plainly that he wasn’t going to stand any nonsense. Guy’s heart sunk within him.