Winn Hardy, agentle child when the hand of want was stretched out to him, but a lion in wrath at all iniquity and injustice, was not long in carrying out his thought to write the history of the Rockhaven Granite Company, and for the sole purpose of a warning.

To do so, came as an excuse to protect the pride of the poor girl who had been his co-worker; and when it was done, the editor to whom he took it gladly used it and, more than that, praised its writer editorially.

Winn, as was his nature, wrote with candor, sparing not even himself or the way he was duped, and it is needless to say that his article was widely read. Winn looked for no compensation, but the editor, keen to discover talent, at once offered him a position as city news reporter on the paper. And so his reward came. It was not over ample, so far as salary goes, but it was at least an occupation—what he just now needed.

One morning, when passing the closed office of Weston & Hill, he saw on the door a notice that, at two o'clock that afternoon, all the office fixtures and other assets of this bankrupt firm would be sold at public auction.

As Winn stood there that wintry morning, with the hurrying stream of people jostling him as they passed, while he read this business epitaph posted upon the massive doors, what a grim travesty it seemed!

He looked at the two nickel plates flanking them, once kept bright, but now tarnished, upon which the firm's name in bold black letters still stared at him, at the drawn curtains where "Investment Securities" in gold still uttered their lie; and gazing at these outward signs of deception and fraud, all the varying changes in his own hopes, plans, and opinions for a six months passed in review.

And in fancy he leaped back to Rockhaven.

He peeped into the store where quaint Jess Hutton fiddled in lieu of company; he was one of the little gathering each Sunday at church there; he saw the quarry with the men at work, the tiny dooryard with Mona watering her flowers, the grand old gorge where the sea waves leaped in, and the cave once carpeted with ferns in his honor, and (most touching of all) the moment he had parted from a timid girl, while the moon, rising out of a boundless ocean, smiled at them.

Now, it was a memory of the past, and he, sore at heart, with only a few hundred dollars in the bank, was hunting for news items at so much a line, and the "so much" a mere pittance.

Truly, the whirligig of time had made a toy of him!

For full five minutes he stood, with sinking spirits, and then passed on.

"I'll be at this auction," he thought, "and maybe bid in my old office chair for a keepsake. Besides, it will make an item."

He was there on time and found that a considerable crowd had gathered.

Most of them were brokers or their clerks who had been in business touch with this defunct firm, and now came to witness its obsequies. Nearly all had been losers in Rockhaven but, as stock gamblers are wont to do, took it good-naturedly and joked one another about being "easy marks" and "good things," and looked at this auction as an excellent object lesson.

The auctioneer, quick to catch the spirit of his audience, saw his opening, and with ready wit made the most of it. The office fittings—chairs, desks, tables, etc.—were put up first, and Winn bought his old chair for fifty cents. Then came the pictures; and a framed photograph of Weston, holding the reins over a fine pair of horses, brought a quarter; another of Simmons's steam yacht, a dollar; and then a crayon portrait of Weston, in massive gilt frame, was handed to the auctioneer.

"Here we have," he said, "a costly painting of J. Malcolm Weston himself, and how much am I offered? It is, as you observe, an excellent picture of this Napoleon of finance, and certainly cost a hundred dollars. How much for it?"

An offer of thirty cents was heard.

"Thirty cents, did I hear?" he continued, in a disgusted tone, "thirty cents for this magnificent portrait! You can't mean it! Thirty cents for a picture of one who cost some of you many thousands! Thirty cents! Ye gods, how have the mighty fallen! Look at his winning smile, his Websterian brow, his eagle eye that saw Rockhaven afar! And his whiskers! And I am offered but thirty cents! Why, gentlemen, the frame cost as many dollars, and think what an awful warning this picture will be to most of you. Think of the beautiful tales he told, the great industry he started, the money he spent—your money, gentlemen, and I am offered but thirty cents! Why, it's worth a thousand dollars as an object lesson in finance. Come, don't let this master of the stock exchange be sold for thirty cents! It's a shame! Thirty cents, thirty cents once, thirty cents twice, thirty cents three times, and sold for thirty cents!" And the broker who bought it didn't want it at that.

The safe, with all the books it contained, was sold next, and then the auctioneer, holding aloft an open deed with its red seal attached said:—

"I now offer for sale the only real, tangible asset the great Rockhaven Granite Company ever had, a deed of its quarry on Rockhaven Island. This property originally cost two thousand dollars, and was the sole basis of this gigantic scheme capitalized at one million! How much am I offered?"

A wag bid ten cents, another a dollar. Then came a bid of fifty. And then Winn, who up to this time had been a silent spectator of the comedy, felt a sudden intuition that here and now was his chance. He thought of the island, still dear to his memory, of the men to whom his coming had been a godsend, of Jess Hutton who, at parting, had offered hand and heart, and of Mona and the little knot of flowers he had once kept fresh in a tiny spring that bubbled out of this same quarry.

And thinking thus, he bid one hundred dollars.

But the auctioneer knew not of the fine sentiment prompting the offer, and continued his burlesque:—

"One hundred dollars," he said, "one hundred offered for this property, cheap at two thousand! What are you thinking of?"

Then, after a pause, while he waited another bid, he continued: "One hundred I'm offered for this splendid piece of real estate, with all its improvements; for this matchless quarry of pink granite, once called worth a million! Why, gentlemen, have you gone daft? Don't you know a good thing when you see it? It wasn't so long ago when I heard some of you eagerly bidding thirty and forty dollars for a single share in this immense property, and now you won't raise a bid of one hundred dollars for its total valuation! Is this business? Is this finance? Come, gentlemen, wake up and buy this rich ledge of valuable granite, going for a song! Think of what it has seemed to you; what might again be made out of it! Think of the thousands of dupes still anxious to buy fairy tales and pay money for them! Think of the money you have lost in this one!

"And I am offered one hundred dollars for it! One hundred once, one hundred twice, one hundred three times, and—sold!"

And that auctioneer, really disgusted this time, stepped down and handed the deed to Winn.

Winn wrote a check for that amount, and utterly unconscious of how valuable a purchase he had made, put the deed in his pocket, and left the crowd.

In a way, the whole affair had seemed much like a burlesque on a funeral, and he a mourner. When the rest had laughed at the auctioneer's sallies, no smile came to him, and he bid feeling that he was likely to obtain a white elephant.

That night, in the solitude of his room, he came near writing a farewell letter to Mona and enclosing this deed as a keepsake. Only pride restrained him.