Franklin H. Dodge Steam Printing Company" appeared upon its front, and

in characters of greater freshness, so as to suggest recent conversion,

the watch-cry, "White Labour Only." In the office, in a dusty pen,

Jim sat alone before a table. A wretched change had overtaken him in

clothes, body, and bearing; he looked sick and shabby; he who had once

rejoiced in his day's employment, like a horse among pastures, now sat

staring on a column of accounts, idly chewing a pen, at times heavily

sighing, the picture of inefficiency and inattention. He was sunk deep

in a painful reverie; he neither saw nor heard me; and I stood and

watched him unobserved. I had a sudden vain relenting. Repentance

bludgeoned me. As I had predicted to Nares, I stood and kicked myself.

Here was I come home again, my honour saved; there was my friend in want

of rest, nursing, and a generous diet; and I asked myself with Falstaff,

"What is in that word honour? what is that honour?" and, like Falstaff,

I told myself that it was air.

"Jim!" said I.

"Loudon!" he gasped, and jumped from his chair and stood shaking.

The next moment I was over the barrier, and we were hand in hand.

"My poor old man!" I cried.

"Thank God, you're home at last!" he gulped, and kept patting my

shoulder with his hand.

"I've no good news for you, Jim!" said I.

"You've come--that's the good news that I want," he replied. "O, how

I've longed for you, Loudon!"

"I couldn't do what you wrote me," I said, lowering my voice. "The

creditors have it all. I couldn't do it."

"Ssh!" returned Jim. "I was crazy when wrote. I could never have looked

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