Off-Hand Sketches | Page 8

renewal of the note, which would be a great relief. It was better,
certainly, than to suffer a protest. At the thought of a protest I
shuddered, and started to see the parties to whom the note was due,
feeling much as I suppose a culprit feels when about being arraigned
for trial. It was twenty minutes past two when I called at their store.
"I am sorry," I said to one of the firm, whom I first met, speaking in a
husky, agitated voice, "to inform you that I shall not be able to lift my
note that falls due to-day."
His brows fell instantly.
"I had made every arrangement to meet it," I continued, "and was to
receive the money at one o'clock to-day, but was unexpectedly
disappointed. I have tried since to raise the amount, but find it too late
in the day."
The man's brows fell still lower, while his eyes remained steadily fixed

upon my face.
"I shall have to ask you to extend it for me."
"I don't think we can do that," he coldly replied.
"Will you consult your partners?" I said; "time presses."
The man bowed stiffly, his aspect about as pleasing as if I had robbed
him, and turned away. I was standing near the door of the
counting-room, inside of which were his two partners, with whom he
had retired to confer.
"Jones can't pay his note," I heard him say, in tones most unpleasant to
my ear.
"What!" was replied; "Jones?"
"Yes, Jones."
"What does he want?"
"A renewal."
"Nonsense! He can pay, if he finds he must."
"It is nearly half-past two," one of them remarked.
"No matter. It's of too much importance to him to keep his good name;
he'll find somebody to help him. Threaten him with a protest; shake
that over his head, and the money'll be raised."
With a Siberian aspect, the man returned to me.
"Can't do any thing for you," he said. "Sorry for it."
"My note must lie over, then," I replied.
"It will be protested."
The very sound of the word went through me like an arrow. I felt the
perspiration starting from every pore; but I was indignant at the same
time, and answered, as firmly as I could speak--"Very well; let it be."
"As you like," he said, in the same cold tone, and with the same dark
aspect, partly turning away as he spoke.
"But, my dear sir"--
"It is useless to waste words," he remarked, interrupting me. "You have
our ultimatum."
As I left the store, I felt as if I had been guilty of some crime; I was
ashamed to look even the clerks in the face. A feeble resolution to
make an effort to save myself from the disgrace and disaster of a
protest stirred in my mind; but it died away, and I returned to my store
to await the dread result that must follow this failure to take up my
paper. I looked at the slow-moving hand on the clock, and saw minute

after minute go by with a stoicism that surprised even myself. At last
the stroke of the hammer fell; the die was cast. I would be protested,
that greatest of all evils dreaded by a man of business. As to going
home to dinner, that was out of the question; I could not have eaten a
mouthful to save me. All I had now to do was to wait for the visit of the
notary, from which I shrank with a nervous dread. Everybody in the
street would know him, I thought, and everybody would see him enter
my store and comprehend his business.
Half-past three arrived, and yet I had not been bearded by the dread
monster, at whose very name thousands have trembled and do still
tremble. I sat awaiting him in stern silence. Four o'clock, and yet he had
not come. Perhaps, it was suggested to me, the holders of the note had
withdrawn it at the last moment. Cheering thought!
Just then I saw a lad enter the store and speak to one of the clerks, who
pointed back to where I sat. The boy was not over fourteen, and had, I
noticed as he approached, a modest, rather shrinking look.
"Mr. Jones?" he said, when he had come near to me.
"Yes," I replied, indifferently, scarcely wondering what he wanted.
"Will you pay this note?" he said, opening a piece of paper that I had
not observed in his hand, and presenting it to me.
My head was in a whirl for an instant, but was as quickly clear again.
"No, my lad," I replied, in a composed voice, "I shall not pay it."
"You will not pay it?" he repeated, as if he had not