Frank Maynard and his wife had finished breakfast. Frank was reading the “Times,” and Kate had just brought down baby to play with. Frank suddenly gave a sharp exclamation as of sudden pain.

“What is it, Frank? What is the matter?”

Frank did not answer, his face had a look of utter dismay. “Send baby away.” His wife rang the bell, and baby was sent up to the nursery.

“What is it, Frank dear? Something very bad? Tell me, dearest.”

“Katie,” Frank said, “if this is true, and there can be no doubt of it, we are ruined,—ruined, little woman.”

“How, Frank?” his wife asked, unable to realise the misfortune, “how ruined, dear?”

“The great Indian Bank is broken, Katie—a complete smash.”

“But, Frank, that is not altogether ruin; I have heard you say half your money was in the shares of that Bank, and the other half in the Bank of England, so only half is gone.”

“No, Katie; the Bank has failed, the notice says, for an immense amount. Not one-third of the amount of the shares is called in; they will call up the rest now, and every farthing we have in the world will go, Katie. Oh, my poor little wife, my poor little wife!”

“My dearest, I have you left, so I am rich still. Do not give way, Frank, my own boy, you must not do that; we shall do very well somehow. Don’t give way, Frank.”

“My darling, I am only thinking of you. My little tender wife! To think how different your life will be.”

“My dear Frank, I am not a hothouse flower—I am a little wild Irish girl; do you think I can’t rough it as well as you? Why, Frank, I have been wondering lately whether I was always to lead such an idle, useless life as I have lately, with only baby to work for. I am sure I shall be happier, Frank, and you know, dear, I can be useful, and perhaps earn money. I am sure I could give singing lessons.”

“No, no, don’t talk of it, Katie. I am not a man to give way. I was upset when I thought of you, dear, but I shall be only too proud and too glad to work for you; and as long as I have a pair of hands you may be sure, Katie, there is no need for you to talk of doing anything. Why, you little goose, have you no faith in me? I can do all sorts of things.”

“Can you, Frank?” Kate said doubtfully; “well, we shall see, only let us trust each other, dear, and we can look the worst in the face.”

“You are a darling, Katie, and I did not know what a treasure I had got. There, I feel all right again now, so I will go up to the city, perhaps things may not be as bad as they seem.”

Frank, however, derived but little comfort from what he heard in town. The city was in a state of consternation. The break down of the Bank had been quite unexpected. The “Indian” had been looked upon as one of the most stable of the banks, and no one knew which might go next. The liabilities were described as tremendous. It was certain that the shareholders would have to pay up to their last penny, and that even then the depositors would suffer greatly. Frank went back again to Thurloe Square greatly depressed.

“It is as bad as it can be, Katie,” he said, in answer to his wife’s questioning look when he entered. “It is no use deceiving ourselves. We shall be called upon to pay up every penny we have.”

“Well, Frank,” Kate said, simply, “we have the consolation that it is no fault of ours, and I am sure, dear, we shall be very happy wherever we are.”

“I am sure we shall, Katie.”

“I suppose we shall not have to turn out just yet, Frank?”

“Oh, no; there will be receivers appointed, and then the calls will be made. I should think it will be a couple of months before anything is settled.”

“Ah! then, Frank, we need not worry ourselves; we shall have plenty of time to think over our plans.”

At that moment there was a knock at the door, and Prescott entered.

“My dear Frank! My dear Kate”—for Frank and his wife had long since insisted that their friend should so call her—“I am sorry for this. I only heard it this afternoon, for I never look at the money article; so directly I could get away from court, I ran down to see you. This is, indeed, a bad affair.”

“It can’t be helped, Arthur,” Kate said, cheerfully; “it’s no use crying over spilt milk.”

“Is it very bad, Frank?”

“Every penny we have in the world, Prescott. It’s no use mincing matters.”

Prescott sat down in consternation.

“Don’t take it to heart, Arthur,” Kate said; “you see we are very comfortable over it.”

Prescott could not answer for some time. At last he said,—

“At least, Frank has one treasure left him.”

“No nonsense, Arthur, else I shall be angry with you. Now please let us say no more about it till after dinner, and then we will hold a council. We will all go into Frank’s snuggery, and Frank shall smoke his big meerschaum; that always puts him in a good temper if he’s ever so cross.”

“You are an impudent puss, Katie; you know I never am cross.”

“Oh, what fibs, Frank! You know you are a perfect bear sometimes. There, it is time for you to go upstairs, dinner will be ready in five minutes.”

Kate left the room, her husband remaining behind to say to his friend,—

“Isn’t she a brick, Prescott? Isn’t she a downright little trump? I tell you what, Prescott, I never was sharp, but I managed somehow to choose the very best little woman in the world.” And then he went upstairs after his wife.

At dinner, Prescott was the most silent of the party. Frank, in his pleasure and pride at his wife’s stout-heartedness, was in really high spirits; and Katie having wisely turned the subject to travels, Frank rattled on about some adventures of his in Albania, and never came back again to England until the cloth was removed. Then Kate said,—

“Evan, put the wine and glasses in your master’s study. Now, Frank, let us go there. I have ordered a fire to be lighted; it is more cheerful.”

It was not until they had been seated for some minutes in Frank’s smoking-room, and until Frank’s meerschaum was fairly alight, that Prescott brought the conversation to present matters by asking,—

“Have you thought at all of going abroad, Frank?”

“Well, no,” Frank said. “I have not thought about it, but I should be open to any good appointment. Wolf killer to his Majesty the Czar of all the Russias, that would suit me capitally; or, if I could not get that, say ambassador to Madrid.”

“No, no, Frank; I am speaking seriously. I mean are you thinking of going at once? Hundreds of men in your position will go. The calls cannot be made for another month or six weeks; and there is nothing in the world to prevent your selling out of the Funds, and you would still have a good income for the Continent.”

Frank was silent. After a pause his wife spoke.

“But that would be cheating, would it not, Arthur?”

Prescott hesitated; he was too straightforward to equivocate.

“I don’t know that it would be absolutely cheating, Kate. Frank, you see, has lost a large sum by the fall of the Bank, and he may consider that he has a perfect right to save the rest if he can. Hundreds will do so, no doubt.”

“Still, I suppose it is cheating all the same, Arthur?” Kate said quietly. “If Frank’s money properly belongs to the creditors of the Bank, it must be cheating if he goes off without paying it.”

“Look here, Prescott,” Frank said gravely; “the interest and sympathy of the public will in this, as in all cases, be with the depositor, and not with the shareholder. In this case more than ordinarily so; for the depositors in the ‘Indian’ were old Indian officers, and their widows and children. The distress this smash will cause will be terrible; and by what I hear, even after the greatest amount possible is wrung out of the shareholders, there will not be nearly enough to pay the depositors in full. Now, Prescott, I could stand a good deal of hardship and trial, but I could not stand being pointed at as a man who had swindled—that would be the word, old man; there is no use mincing it—the widows and orphans who have been brought to want by the failure of the Bank. Even for Katie’s sake I could not do that.”

“You never thought we would, did you, Arthur?”

“No, I did not,” Prescott answered. “I thought you would not, still I thought it right to suggest the thing before it is too late to be carried out. There is no doubt that a vast number of the unfortunate shareholders of the ‘Indian’ are preparing to spend the rest of their time on the Continent.”

“It is very wicked of them,” Katie said, earnestly.

“You are too hard, little woman,” Frank said. “We must not judge other people by ourselves. There are circumstances under which I might myself do what they are doing. For me there would be no excuse for choosing a life of dishonest ease to setting-to at hard work of some sort. I am not yet seven-and-twenty; it is comparatively easy for me to begin life; but suppose I were an old man, with no possible kind of work to turn to to earn a living, and with a wife of my own age, and a grown-up daughter or two, what then? What could I possibly do? You must remember our case is just as hard as that of the depositors. We bought shares at prices which paid five or six per cent.—no extraordinary interest—and we imagined that the money was absolutely safe. The depositors put their money in the Bank, and received interest for it. The Bank goes, from no fault of ours any more than of theirs. We lose every penny invested; they will receive, at any rate, some part of what they put in. I think, then, that an old man, in the case I have spoken of, would be morally justified in trying to save anything which may remain to him; but I do not think a young man would be.”

“Perhaps so,” Katie said, thoughtfully. “At any rate, I am glad you are a young man.”

“So am I, Kate,” Frank laughed. “There, Prescott, now we have quite decided upon that point, what is your next idea?”

“My dear Frank, I have no idea,” Prescott said; “it is for you to turn over in your mind what you think would suit you.”

“I was thinking of that as I came down from town, Prescott,” Frank said, disconsolately; “and upon my word I don’t see what I am fit for. I write a rascally bad hand, and I am sure no one would take me as a clerk; I couldn’t do anything in the literary line, to save my life, I can pull an oar you know; but then, fellows must be apprenticed before they can be watermen. Upon my word, the only thing I can see for myself,” he said, ruefully, “is to go into the ring. I fancy there ain’t above one or two men I couldn’t hold my own with.”

“A prizefighter, Frank! For shame! How dare you talk of such a thing?” Katie said, indignantly.

“He is only joking, Kate,” Prescott said, although he saw that Frank had been half in earnest. “He is laughing at himself and us.”

“Yes, I suppose it would not do,” Frank said, with half a sigh; “but upon my word it is about all I am fit for.”

“You see, Arthur, if Frank could get any little thing to do here, I could help. I could give lessons in, singing. Besides, I can work very well. I am a wonderful hand at bonnets.”

“You are a wonderful goose,” Frank broke in, seizing her and taking her from her chair on to his knees in his own easy chair, and checking her remonstrances with “Do as you are told, Katie, Prescott won’t mind.”

“Frank, I am really ashamed of you. I shall go away. I will, Frank; please let me go.”

“Not a bit of it, Katie. Here you are, and here you remain. Now, Prescott, please go on. It is agreed Katie is to give singing lessons, and I am to stay at home and nurse baby.”

“Frank, that is unkind,” Katie said, with the tears in her eyes. “Why should I not have the pleasure of helping too?”

“My own Katie,” Frank said. “If the worst comes to the worst, you shall help; but I hope that we shall hit on something better than that. Your proper work will be quite as hard, my pet; what with baby and me you will have quite enough to do. I am afraid I shall be the most troublesome of the two. Now, Prescott, have you anything else to propose?”

“Nothing definite, Frank; but if I were in your place, with your strength and energy, and with such a brave-hearted wife to back me and help me, I should emigrate. I am afraid there is no sort of profession here for which you are fitted, but you are just the man to get on out there. A man who is strong and active, and is willing to turn his hand to anything, is safe to get on; and no kind of work is considered dishonouring out there.”

“By Jove, Prescott, that would be just the thing for me, but it would be a rough life for poor Kate.”

“Not rougher for me than for you, Frank. Besides, you know that I could really help you out there.”

“I should think so, Kate; still I think if we really do make up our minds to it, it would be better for me to go out first to make a home for you, Katie—a rough home, dear, but still a home—and for you to stay for a little while with the Drakes.”

“Look here, Frank,” his wife said, with a tear glistening in her eye again, and a laugh that was nearly a cry, “I promise you solemnly, that if you once leave me behind, you leave me behind for good. You don’t mean it, do you, husband?”

“No, darling; that is, I don’t mean it, if you don’t want it. Well, Prescott, and which of the colonies do you think would suit me best?”

“Ah, that is a matter for great consideration, Frank. You must do nothing in a hurry. There are Canada, the Cape, the various Australian colonies, and New Zealand. You must get up the subject, and settle a little what line you mean to take up.”

“By Jove, Prescott, it is a great idea, and has taken a tremendous weight off my mind. I did not see anything for it but the ring, you know, and Kate does not seem to fancy that. Well, we may consider the matter settled so far.”