“gaslucky has been caught in a wheat corner at chicago,” lucas explained, “and has been squeezed to death.”

“dead!” cried punner, “it’s a great loss. we’ll have to hold a meeting and pass res——”

“we’ll have to get out of this place in short order,” said lucas, “the sheriff has levied an attachment on the hotel and all it contains.”

“what!”

“how’s that?”

“do you mean that the house is to be shut up and we turned out?”

“just that,” said lucas. “the sheriff has invoiced every thing, even the provisions on hand. he says that we can’t eat another bite here.”

“and i’m starving even now!” exclaimed punner. “i could eat most anything. let’s walk round to delmonico’s, cattleton.”

“but really, what can we do?” demanded ferris, dolefully enough.

“go home, of course,” said cattleton.

ferris looked blank and stood with his hands thrust in his pockets.

“i can’t go home,” he presently remarked.

“why?”

“i haven’t money enough to pay my way.”

“by george! neither have i!” exclaimed cattleton with a start.

“that is precisely my fix,” said lucas gravely.

“you echo my predicament,” said peck.

“my salary is suspended during my absence,” said punner, with his eyes bent on the floor.

little mrs. philpot was speechless for a time as the force of the situation broke upon her.

“squeezed in a wheat corner?” inquired miss stackpole, “what do you mean by that?”

“i mean that gaslucky got sheared in the big deal the other day at chicago,” lucas explained.

“got sheared?”

“yes, the bulls sat down on him.”

“oh, you mean a speculation—a—”

“yes, gaslucky was in for all he was worth, and they run it down on him and flattened him. a gas-man’s no business in wheat, especially in chicago; they spread him out, just as the sheriffs proceedings have flattened all our hopes for the present.”

“it’s just outrageous!” cried little mrs. philpot, finding her voice. “he should have notified us, so that—”

“they didn’t notify him, i guess,” said cattleton.

“no, he found it out afterwards,” remarked lucas, glancing gloomily toward where dunkirk and miss moyne stood, apparently in light and pleasant conversation.

viewed in any light the predicament was a peculiar and distressing one to the guests of hotel helicon. the sheriff, a rather ignorant,[133] but very stubborn and determined man, held executions and writs of attachment sued out by gaslucky creditors, which he had proceeded to levy on the hotel and on all the personalty visible in it belonging to the proprietor.

“’course,” said he, “hit’ll be poorty hard on you’ns, but i can’t help it, i’ve got ter do my juty, let it hurt whoever it will. not er thing kin ye tech at’s in this yer tavern, ’ceptin’ what’s your’n, that air’s jest how it air. so now mind w’at yer a doin’.”

the servants were idle, the dining-room closed, the kitchen and pantries locked up. never was there a more doleful set of people. mrs. nancy jones black thought of playing a piece of sacred music, but she found the grand piano locked, with its key deep in the sheriff’s pocket.

the situation was made doubly disagreeable when at last the officer informed the guests that they would have to vacate their rooms forthwith, as he should proceed at once to close up the building.

“heavens, man, are you going to turn us out into the woods?” demanded peck.

“woods er no woods,” he replied, “ye’ll hev ter git out’n yer, right off.”

“but the ladies, mr. sheriff,” suggested punner, “no southern gentleman can turn a lady out of doors.”

the officer actually colored with the force of the insinuation. he stood silent for some time with his eyes fixed on the floor. presently he looked up and said:

“the weeming kin stay till mornin’.”

“well they must have something to eat,” said punner. “they can’t starve.”

“thet’s so,” the sheriff admitted, “they kin hev a bite er so.”

“and we——”

“you men folks cayn’t hev a dorg gone mouthful, so shet up!”

“well,” observed cattleton, dryly, “it appears the odds is the difference between falling into the hands of moonshiners and coming under the influence of a lawful sheriff.”

“i know a little law,” interposed bartley hubbard with a sullen emphasis, “and i know that this sheriff has no right to tumble us out of doors, and for my part——”

“fur yer part,” said the sheriff coolly, “fur yer part, mister, ef ye fool erlong o’ me i’ll crack yer gourd fur ye.”

“you’ll do what?”

“i’ll stave in yer piggin.”

“i don’t understand.”

“w’y, blame yer ignorant hide, wha’ wer’ ye borned and fotch up? i’ll jest knock the everlastin’ head off’n ye, thet’s ’zac’ly w’at i says. mebbe ye don’t understan’ thet?”

“yes,” said hubbard, visibly shrinking into himself, “i begin to suspect your meaning.”

miss crabb was taking notes with enthusiastic rapidity.

dunkirk called the sheriff to him and a long conference was held between them, the result of which was presently announced.

“i heve thort it over,” said the quiet officer of the law, “an’ es hit appear thet w’at grub air on han’ an’ done cooked might spile afore it c’u’d be sold, therefore i proclamate an’ say at you’ns kin stay yer tell termorrer an’ eat w’at’s cooked, but tech nothin’ else.”

cattleton and punner applauded loudly. to everybody the announcement was a reprieve of no small moment, and a sigh of relief rustled through the groups of troubled guests. those who had been down the ravine were very tired and hungry; the thought of a cold luncheon to them was the vision of a feast.

dunkirk had a basket of wine brought down from his room and he made the sheriff sit beside him at the table.

“we may as well make the most of our last evening together,” he said, glancing jovially around.

“we shall have to walk down the mountain in the morning, i suppose,” remarked bartley hubbard.

“that’s jest w’at’s the matter,” observed the sheriff.

“but the ladies, my dear sir, the ladies——” began punner.

“the weeming, they’ll hev kinveyances, young man, so ye kin jest shet up ef ye please,” the officer interrupted, with a good-natured wink and a knowing wag of his head.

a disinterested observer would have noted readily enough that the feast was far from a banquet. there was ferris, for instance,[136] munching a biscuit and sipping his wine and pretending to enjoy punner’s sallies and cattleton’s drolleries, while down in his heart lay the leaden thought, the hideous knowledge of an empty pocket. indeed the reflection was a common one, weighting down almost every breast at the board.

one little incident did make even ferris forget himself for a moment or two, it was when deaf miss nebeker misinterpreted some remark made by hubbard and arose with a view to reciting the jerseyman’s jewsharp, with a new variation, “oh, jerseyman joe had a jewsharp of gold,” she began, in her most melodious drawl. she could not hear the protesting voices of her friends and she misinterpreted the stare of the sheriff.

“for the good heaven’s sake, hubbard,” cried lucas, “do use your influence; quick, please, or i shall collapse.”

bartley hubbard took hold of her dress and gently pulled her down into her chair.

“the sheriff objects!” he yelled in her ear.

“after dinner?” she resignedly inquired, “well, then after dinner, in the parlor.”

when the feast had come to the crumbs, dunkirk arose and said:

“we all have had a good time at the hotel helicon, but our sojourn upon the heights of mt. boab has been cut short by a certain chain of mishaps over which we have had no control, and to-morrow we go away, doubtless forever.[137] i feel like saying that i harbor no unpleasant recollections of the days we have spent together.”

cattleton sprung to his feet to move a vote of thanks “to the public-spirited and benevolent man who built this magnificent hotel and threw open its doors to us.”

it was carried.

“now then,” said lucas, adjusting his glasses and speaking in his gravest chest-tones, “i move that it be taken as the sense of this assembly, that it is our duty to draw upon our publisher for money enough to take us home.”

the response was overwhelming.

dunkirk felt the true state of affairs. he arose, his broad face wreathed with genial smiles, and said:

“to the certain knowledge of your unhappy publisher your accounts are already overdrawn, but in view of the rich material you have been gathering of late, your publisher will honor you draughts to the limit of your expenses home.”

never did happier people go to bed. the last sleep in hotel helicon proved to be the sweetest.

far in the night, it is true, some one sang loudly but plaintively under miss moyne’s window until the sheriff awoke and sallied forth to end the serenade with some remarks about “cracking that eejit’s gourd;” but there was no disturbance, the sounds blending sweetly with the dreams of the slumberers. they all knew that it was crane, poor fellow, who had finally[138] torn himself away from his father’s fascinating uncle.