that touches the strings of the one human heart of us all and makes it return no uncertain sound. Shylock himself would hardly have demanded his pound of flesh on the wedding-day, had it been Antonio that was to espouse the fair Portia. Even he would have allowed three days of grace before demanding the specific performance of his bond. Now Mr. Schulemberg was very far from being a Shylock, and he was also a constant attendant upon the opera, and a devoted admirer of the lovely G——. So he could not wonder that a man on the eve of marriage with that divine creature should forget every other consideration in the immediate contemplation of his happiness,—even if it were the consideration for a cargo of prime linens, and one to the tune of fifty thousand dollars. And it is altogether likely that the mundane reflection occurred to him, and made him easier in his mind under the delay, that old G—— was by no means the kind of man to give away a daughter who dropped gold and silver from her sweet lips whenever she opened them in public, as the princess in the fairy-tale did pearls and diamonds, to any man who could not give him a solid equivalent in return. So that, in fact, he regarded the notes of the Signorina G—— as so much collateral security for his debt.
So Mr. Schulemberg was content to bide his reasonable time for the discharge of M. M. ——'s indebtedness to his principal. He had advised Mynheer Van Holland of the speedy sale of his consignment, and given him hopes of a quick return of the proceeds. But as days wore away, it seemed to him that the time he was called on to bide was growing into an unreasonable one. I cannot state with precision exactly how long he waited. Whether he disturbed the sweet influences of the honey-moon by his intrusive presence, or permitted that nectareous satellite to fill her horns and wax and wane in peace before he sought to bring the bridegroom down to the things of earth, are questions which I must leave to the discretion of my readers to settle, each for himself or herself, according to their own notions of the proprieties of the case. But at the proper time, after patience had thrown up in disgust the office of a virtue, he took his hat and cane one fine morning and walked down to No. 118, Pearl Street, for the double purpose of wishing M. M. —— joy of his marriage and of receiving the price, promised long and long withheld, of the linens which form the tissue of my story.
"The gods gave ear and granted half his prayer;
The rest the winds dispersed in empty air."
There was not the slightest difficulty about his imparting his epithalamic congratulation,—but as to his receiving the numismatic consideration for which he hoped in return, that was an entirely different affair. He found matters in the Pearl-Street counting-house again apparently something out of joint, but with a less smiling and sunny atmosphere pervading them than he had remarked on his last visit. He was received by M. M. —— with courtesy, a little over-strained, perhaps, and not as flowing and gracious as at their first interview. Preliminaries over, Mr. Schulemberg, plunging with epic energy into the midst of things, said, "I have called, M. M. ——, to receive the fifty thousand dollars, which, you will remember, you engaged to pay down for the linens I sold you on such a day. I can make allowance for the interruption which has prevented your attending to this business sooner, but it is now high time that it were settled."
"I consent to it all, Monsieur," replied M. M. ——, with a deprecatory gesture; "you have reason, and I am desolated that it is the impossible that you ask of me to do."
"How, Sir!" demanded the creditor; "what do you mean by the impossible? You do not mean to deny that you agreed to pay cash for the goods?"
"My faith, no, Monsieur," shruggingly responded M. M. ——; "I avow it; you have reason; I promised to pay the money, as you say it; but if I have not the money to pay you, how can I pay you the money? What to do?"
"I don't understand you, Sir," returned Mr. Schulemberg. "You have not the money? And you do not mean to pay me according to agreement?"
"But, Monsieur, how can I when I have not money? Have you not heard that I have made—what you call it?—failure, yesterday? I am grieved of it, thrice sensibly; but if it went of my life, I could not pay you for your fine linens, which were of a good market at the price."
"Indeed, sir," replied Mr. Schulemberg, "I had not heard of your misfortunes; and I am heartily sorry for them, on my own account and yours, but still more on account of your charming wife. But there is no great harm done, after all. Send the linens back to me and accounts shall be square between us, and I will submit to the loss of the interest."