"A renewal." 

 "Nonsense! He can pay, if he finds he must." 

 "It is nearly half-past two," one of them remarked. 

 "No matter. It's of too much importance to him to keep his good name; he'll find somebody to help him. Threaten him with a protest; shake that over his head, and the money'll be raised." 

 With a Siberian aspect, the man returned to me. 

 "Can't do any thing for you," he said. "Sorry for it." 

 "My note must lie over, then," I replied. 

 "It will be protested." 

 The very sound of the word went through me like an arrow. I felt the perspiration starting from every pore; but I was indignant at the same time, and answered, as firmly as I could speak—"Very well; let it be." 

 "As you like," he said, in the same cold tone, and with the same dark aspect, partly turning away as he spoke. 

 "But, my dear sir"— 

 "It is useless to waste words," he remarked, interrupting me. "You have our ultimatum." 

 As I left the store, I felt as if I had been guilty of some crime; I was ashamed to look even the clerks in the face. A feeble resolution to make an effort to save myself from the disgrace and disaster of a protest stirred in my mind; but it died away, and I returned to my store to await the dread result that must follow this failure to take up my paper. I looked at the slow-moving hand on the clock, and saw minute after minute go by with a stoicism that surprised even myself. At last the stroke of the hammer fell; the die was cast. I would be protested, that greatest of all evils dreaded by a man of business. As to going home to dinner, that was out of the question; I could not have eaten a mouthful to save me. All I had now to do was to wait for the visit of the notary, from which I shrank with a nervous dread. Everybody in the street would know him, I thought, and everybody would see him enter my store and comprehend his business. 

 Half-past three arrived, and yet I had not been bearded by the dread monster, at whose very name thousands have trembled and do still tremble. I sat awaiting him in stern silence. Four o'clock, 

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