From some cause, this mental reference to Mr. Jenkins did not increase our friend's state of exhilaration. Most probably, there was something in the transaction by which he had gained so handsome a sum of money, that, in calmer moments, would not bear too close a scrutiny—something that Mr. Everett would hardly like to have blazoned forth to the world. Be this as it may, a more sober mood, in time, succeeded, and although the broker was richer by two thousand dollars than when he arose in the morning, he was certainly no happier.
An hour afterward, a business friend came into the office of Mr. Everett and said—
"Have you heard about Cassen?"
"No; what of him?"
"He's said to be off to California with twenty thousand dollars in his pockets more than justly belongs to him."
"What!"
"Too true, I believe. His name is in the list of passengers who left New York in the steamer yesterday."
"The scoundrel!" exclaimed Mr. Everett, who, by this time, was very considerably excited.
"He owes you, does he?" said the friend.
"I lent him three hundred dollars only day before yesterday."