Mr. Whedell, taking the hint, came down to business.  His affairs were of a kind that were easily settled.  He owned nothing except his personal clothing, and a few small articles of furniture.  Everything else had been obtained on credit, and either not paid for, or only partly paid for.  This statement of affairs occupied one minute.

A minute remained, which Mr. Whedell put to good use.  He looked appealingly at Maltboy.  So did Mrs. Chiffield.

“My dear friend,” said Mr. Whedell, “I find myself, at an advanced period of life, in this cold world, deserted, penniless.  You are the only person living that I can call by the sacred name of friend.  I have already experienced your noble bounty in a loan of two hundred dollars.” (Tramps of creditors becoming louder outside.) “In a word, sir, can you lend me one hundred dollars more?  It will at least save me from the self-destruction which I had contemplated.”

At the word “self-destruction,” Mrs. Chiffield cried aloud, and threw herself on her parent’s breast, with a fresh flood of tears.

These tears swept away the last trace of Matthew’s prudence.  He whipped out his pocket book, and delivered over five twenty-dollar gold pieces to Mr. Whedell.  The sight of those beautiful coins seemed to reconcile the wretched man to life.

Mr. Whedell was about to thank his preserver most profusely, and Mrs. Chiffield to burst into a new torrent, when Matthew, to avoid these demonstrations, rose, opened the door, and let in the pack of hungry creditors.

Now Matthew had, in these fleeting fifteen minutes, thought up no plan of settlement.  Being taken aback by the sudden reappearance of the creditors, he did not know what to propose.

“Everything fixed, I s’pose?” said Rickarts, the shoemaker.

When Matthew was in strong doubt what to do in any case, it was his invariable custom to postpone.  “I think,” he feebly suggested, “that we had better postpone final action, say till three P.M.  It would give us time—­”

“Can’t come it!” “No go!” “Now, or never!” were some of the exclamations which went up from the excited crowd.

Matthew was too good natured to quarrel with these insinuations.  “My friends,” said he, “as you appear to have unlimited confidence in each other, suppose you appoint a committee to dispose of this property, which my client generously” (cries of “Oh! oh!”) “turns over to you, and divide the proceeds among yourselves pro rata”

The creditors looked at each other suspiciously.  A want of that childlike trust which, in a perfect state of society should exist between man and man, was unhappily too apparent.

Just then, when Matthew was at his wits’ end, the police man who guarded the front door entered the room, and delivered a note to Mr. Whedell.  That gentleman perused it languidly, and passed it to Matthew.

“Good news,” said he.  “Mr. Abernuckle, the owner of these premises, who was intending to move in to-day, writes that he will not be able to take possession until noon to-morrow.  Therefore, I say, let the creditors employ an auctioneer, hang out the red flag, sell, and divide, before that period arrives.”