works of Henry George that he (Richards) could borrow.  Richards was in deep trouble.  He had lost his wife; he might lose his farm.  He appealed to Nelson, for the sake of old friendship, to save him.  And Nelson could not resist; so, two thousand of the thirty-four hundred dollars that the Maine man paid went to Richards, the latter swearing by all that is holy, to pay his friend off in full at the end of the year.  There was money coming to him from his dead wife’s estate, but it was tied up in the courts.  Nelson would not listen to Tim’s prophecies of evil.  But he was a little dashed when Richards paid neither interest nor principal at the year’s end, although he gave reasons of weight; and he experienced veritable consternation when the renewed mortgage ran its course and still Richards could not pay.  The money from his wife’s estate had been used to improve his farm (Nelson knew how rundown everything was), his new wife was sickly and “didn’t seem to take hold,” there had been a disastrous hail-storm—­ but why rehearse the calamities? they focussed on one sentence:  it was impossible to pay.

Then Nelson, who had been restfully counting on the money from Richards for his own debt, bestirred himself, only to find his patient creditor gone and a woman in his stead who must have her money.  He wrote again—­ sorely against his will—­begging Richards to raise the money somehow.  Richards’s answer was in his pocket, for he wore the best black broadcloth in which he had done honor to the lawyer, yesterday.  Richards plainly was wounded; but he explained in detail to Nelson how he (Nelson) could borrow money of the banks on his farm and pay Miss Brown.  There was no bank where Richards could borrow money; and he begged Nelson not to drive his wife and little children from their cherished home.  Nelson choked over the pathos when he read the letter to Tim; but Tim only grunted a wish that he had the handling of that feller.  And the lawyer was as little moved as Tim.  Miss Brown needed the money, he said.  The banks were not disposed to lend just at present; money, it appeared, was “tight;” so, in the end, Nelson drove home with the face of Failure staring at him between his horses’ ears.

There was only one way.  Should he make Richards suffer or suffer himself?  Did a man have to grind other people or be ground himself?  Meanwhile they had reached the town.  The stir of a festival was in the air.  On every side bunting streamed in the breeze or was draped across brick or wood.  Arches spanned some of the streets, with inscriptions of welcome on them, and swarms of colored lanterns glittered against the sunlight almost as gayly as they would show when they should be lighted at night.  Little children ran about waving flags.  Grocery wagons and butchers’ wagons trotted by with a flash of flags dangling from the horses’ harness.  The streets were filled with people in their holiday clothes.  Everybody smiled.  The shopkeepers