It was Master Simp who heard a bold step on the stairs that night, and a resolute knock upon his own door.
"Arrest for debt!" cried Mr. Simp, falling tearfully upon his bed; "I have expected the summons all day."
"The next man may come upon that errand," answered the ringing voice of Andy Plade. "Freckle sleeps in Clichy to-night; Risque cannot be found; the rest are as badly off; I have news for you."
"I am the man to be mocked," pleaded Simp; "but you must laugh at your own joke; I am too wretched to help you."
"The Yankees have opened the Mississippi River; Louisiana is subjugated, and communication re-established with your neighborhood; you can go home."
"What fraction of the way will this carry me?" said the other, holding up a five-franc piece. "My home is farther than the stars from me."
"It is a little sum," urged Mr. Plade; "one hundred dollars should pay the whole passage."
Mr. Simp, in response, mimicked a man shovelling gold pieces, but was too weak to prolong the pleasantry, and sat down on his empty trunk and wept, as Plade thought, like a calf.
"Your case seems indeed hopeless," said the elder. "Suppose I should borrow five hundred dollars on your credit, would you give me two hundred for my trouble?"