He was living that unspeakable moment over again, with all its madness and horror.

He saw himself as he had walked scowling toward the front of the store; he had paused irresolutely with his hand on the door-knob and then had turned back.

The old merchant was standing close by the scales, a tall gaunt figure in the waning light of day.
"Why do you tell me you can't do it ?" he had demanded with dull anger.
"You have the money, I know that!" "I didn't tell you I couldn't do it, Mr.Langham, I merely intimated that I wouldn't," the old man had rejoined dryly.
"You have the money in your safe!" "What if I have?
It's mine to do with as I think proper." "A larger sum than I want--than I need!" "Quite likely." A furious gust of passion had laid hold of him, the consciousness of his necessity, all-compelling and relentless, swept through his brain.

Money he must have!--his success, his happiness, everything depended on it, and what could money mean to this feeble old man whose days were almost spent?
"I want you to let me have two thousand dollars!" he had insisted, as he placed his hand on the old merchant's shoulder.

"Get it for me; I swear I'll pay it back.