stalked over to his little office, now clean and natty. He leaned back
in his chair again and devoted himself to thinking, the persons on whom
his mind dwelt being his creditors.

The proper title for the brief account which follows should be The Feast
of the Paying of Bills. Here was a man who had suffered, here was a man
who had come to doubt himself, and who had now become suddenly and
arrogantly independent. His creditors, he knew, were hopeless. That he
had so few lawsuits to meet was only because those to whom he owed money
had reasoned that the cost of collection would more than offset the sum
gained in the end from this man, who had, they thought, no real property
behind him. Their attitude had become contemptuous. Now he stood forth
defiant and jaunty.

There is a time in a man's failing fortunes when he borrows and gives
his note blithely. He is certain that he can repay it. He runs up bills
as cheerfully, sure that they will easily be met at the end of thirty
days. With George Henry this now long past period had left its
souvenirs, and the torture they had inflicted upon him has been partly
told.

Now came the sweet and glorious hour of his relief.

It was a wonderful sensation to him. He marveled that he had so
respectfully thought of the creditors who had dogged him. They were
people, he now said, of whom he should not have thought at all. He
became a magnificently objective reasoner. But there was work to be
done.

George Henry decided that, since there were certain people to whom he