"Will there be nothing left after his creditors are satisfied?"
"Very few, if any, will be satisfied," he answered. "There will not be enough to pay half the judgments against him."
"And is there no friend to take him in,—no one, of all who moved by his side in the days of prosperity, to give a few hours' shelter, and soothe the last moments of his unhappy life?"
"Why did you make application here?" was the officer's significant question.
I was silent.
"Your earnest appeals for the poor old man met with no words of sympathy?"
"None."
"He has, indeed, fallen low. In the days of his prosperity, he had many friends, so called. Adversity has shaken them all like dead leaves from sapless branches."
"But why? This is not always so."
"Judge Hammond was a selfish, worldly man. People never liked him much. His favoring, so strongly, the tavern of Slade, and his distillery operations, turned from him some of his best friends. The corruption and terrible fate of his son—and the insanity and death of his wife—all were charged upon him in people's minds, and every one seemed to turn from him instinctively after the fearful tragedy was completed. He never held tip his head afterward. Neighbors shunned him as they would a criminal. And here has come the end at last. He will be taken to the poorhouse, to die there—a pauper!"