Nearly a twelvemonth from the day the unfortunate adventure was made, George Prentice sat musing in his counting-room, his mind busy with unpleasant and desponding thoughts. He had done little or no business since the news of his loss had reached him, for he had but a remnant of his capital to work upon, and no heart to risk that. He was "holding off," as they say, until some decision was made in the suit pending with the underwriters. While he thus sat in deep thought, a letter from his agent in London, where the insurance had been effected, was handed to him. He tore it open eagerly. The first brief sentence—"We have lost our suit"—almost unmanned him.
THE LOST SHIP.
"Ruined!—ruined!" he mentally ejaculated, throwing the letter upon his desk as he finished reading it. "What shall I do?"
"Try again!" a voice seemed to whisper in his ear.
He started and looked around.
"Try again," it repeated; and this time he perceived that the voice was within him. For a moment he paused, many thoughts passing rapidly through his mind.
"I will try again!" he exclaimed, rising to his feet.
And he did try. This time he examined the condition of the markets with the most careful scrutiny—ascertained the amount of shipments within the preceding four months from all the principal continental cities; and then, by the aid of his correspondents, learned the expeditions that were getting up, and the articles, and quantities of each, composing the cargoes. Knowing the monthly consumption of the various foreign products at the port to which he purposed making a shipment, he was satisfied that a cargo of flour, if run in immediately, would pay a handsome profit. He at once hired a vessel, the captain of which he knew could be depended on for strict obedience to instructions, and freighted her with flour. The vessel sailed, and the young merchant awaited with almost trembling expectation the news of her arrival out. He had adventured his all; and the result must be success, or the utter prostration of his hopes.