again. He had the dictatorial air of a very small, quite hopeless man,
a man mystified by a blow of unknown provenance. "I tell you...." he
began again.

"But what has it to do with me?" I said roughly.

"Oh, but _you_ ... you advised me to buy." He had become supplicatory.
"Didn't you, now?... Didn't you.... You said, you remember ... that...."
I didn't answer the man. What had I got to say? He remained looking
intently at me, as if it were of the greatest moment to him that I
should make the acknowledgment and share the blame--as if it would take
an immense load from his shoulders. I couldn't do it; I hated him.

"Didn't you," he began categorically; "didn't you advise me to buy those
debentures of de Mersch's?" I did not answer.

"What does it all mean?" he said again. "If this bill doesn't get
through, I tell you I shall be ruined. And they say that Mr. Gurnard is
going to smash it. They are all saying it, up there; and that you--you
on the _Hour_ ... are ... are responsible." He took out a handkerchief
and began to blow his nose. I didn't say a single word.

"But what's to be done?" he started again; "what's to be _done_.... I
tell you.... My daughter, you know, she's very brave, she said to me
this morning she could work; but she couldn't, you know; she's not been
brought up to that sort of thing ... not even typewriting ... and so ...
we're all ruined ... everyone of us. And I've more than fifty hands,
counting Mr. Lea, and they'll all have to go. It's horrible.... I
trusted you, Granger, you know; I trusted you, and they say up there
that you...." I turned away from him. I couldn't bear to see the