To the sentimental observer Mr. Putchett’s action, in taking the position we have indicated, may have seemed to signify that Mr. Putchett was of an aspiring disposition, and that in ascending the steps he exemplified his desire to get above the curbstone whose name was used as a qualifying adjective whenever Mr. Putchett was mentioned as a broker.  Those persons, however, who enjoyed the honor of Mr. Putchett’s acquaintance immediately understood that the operator in question was in funds that day, and that he had taken the position from which he could most easily announce his moneyed condition to all who might desire assistance from him.

It was rather late in the day for business, and certain persons who had until that hour been unsuccessful in obtaining the accommodations desired were not at all particular whether their demands were satisfied in a handsome office, or under the only roof that can be enjoyed free of rent.

There came to Mr. Putchett oddly-clothed members of his own profession, and offered for sale securities whose numbers Mr. Putchett compared with those on a list of bonds stolen; men who deposited with him small articles of personal property—­principally jewelry—­as collaterals on small loans at short time and usurious rates; men who stood before him on the sidewalk, caught his eye, summoned him by a slight motion of the head, and disappeared around the corner, whither Mr. Putchett followed them only to promptly transact business and hurry back to his business-stand.

In fact, Mr. Putchett was very busy, and as in his case business invariably indicated profit, it was not wonderful that his rather unattractive face lightened and expressed its owner’s satisfaction at the amount of business he was doing.  Suddenly, however, there attacked Mr. Putchett the fate which, in its peculiarity of visiting people in their happiest hours, has been bemoaned by poets of genuine and doubtful inspiration, from the days of the sweet singer of Israel unto those of that sweet singer of Erin, whose recital of experience with young gazelles illustrates the remorselessness of the fate alluded to.

Plainly speaking, Mr. Putchett went suddenly under a cloud, for during one of his dashes around the corner after a man who had signaled him, and at the same time commenced to remove a ring from his finger, a small, dirty boy handed Mr. Putchett a soiled card, on which was penciled: 

“Bayle is after you, about that diamond.”

Despite the fact that Mr. Putchett had not been shaved for some days, and had apparently neglected the duty of facial ablution for quite as long a time, he turned pale and looked quickly behind him and across the street; then muttering “Just my luck!” and a few other words more desponding than polite in nature, he hurried to the Post-Office, where he penciled and dispatched a few postal-cards, signed in initials only, announcing an unexpected and temporary absence.  Then, still looking carefully and often at the faces in sight, he entered a newspaper office and consulted a railway directory.  He seemed in doubt, as he rapidly turned the leaves; and when he reached the timetable of a certain road running near and parallel to the seaside, the change in his countenance indicated that he had learned the whereabouts of a city of refuge.