Mr. Hummel closed his office and continued to rove about. The door of Laura's room opened, the daughter shrank within herself when she saw her father cross the threshold solemnly, like a messenger of Fate. Hummel moved towards his daughter and looked sharply at her weeping eyes.
"On account of him over the way, I suppose." Laura hid her face in her hands, again her sorrow overpowered her.
"There you have your little bells," he grumbled in a low tone. "There you have your pocket-handkerchiefs and your Indians. It is all over with the people there." He slapped her on the shoulder with his large hand. "Be quiet. We are not responsible for his ruin; your pocket-handkerchiefs prove nothing."
It became dark; Hummel walked up and down the street between the two houses, looking at the hostile dwelling from the park side, where it was less accessible to him, and his broad face assumed a triumphant smile. At last he discovered an acquaintance who was hastening out of it, and followed him.
"What is the state of the case?" he asked, seizing the arm of the other. "Can he save himself?"
His business friend shrugged his shoulders.
"It cannot remain a secret," he said, and explained the situation and danger of the adversary.
"Will he be able to procure money to meet it?"
The other again shrugged his shoulders.
"Hardly to-morrow. Money is not to be had at any price. The man is of course worth more; the business is good, and the house unencumbered."