Silas Doolittle Bugg was sitting on a log outside the mill, looking as if somebody had just told him the executioner was coming along to cut off both his legs with a meat-ax. He was about the most woebegone and sorrowful and downhearted-looking man I ever set eyes on. He drooped all over like a geranium that has been touched by frost. Yes, sir, he looked like all his leaves was going to fall off.

“M-mornin, Silas!” says Mark.

Silas just looked up and nodded and then looked down again. I was afraid he might start in to cry.

“S-somethin’ wrong?” says Mark.

“Everythin’,” says Silas.

“For instance?” says Mark.

“It hain’t no use,” says Silas. “We’re done for. We’re jest naturally up and done for.”

“Maybe,” says Mark, “but what m-makes you think so?”

“Men’s all quit,” says Silas.

“Git more.”

“Wiggamore hires ’em away as fast as I can.”

“We’ll see about that. Is that all?”

“All! Why, it hain’t even a start.”

“What else?”

“Seems like I didn’t quite pay for them lathes, and along comes a feller with a chattel mortgage. I clean forgot about it. No sooner does he come along, bringin’ a deputy sheriff with him, than another man rushes in and claims our dowel-machine because the feller I bought it off of hadn’t ever paid for it, and he fetched along another deputy sheriff. Mill’s plumb full of sheriffs a-settin’ onto machinery.”

“How much?” says Mark, without winking an eye. I was in a regular panic, but not him. You would have thought he expected to hear something like this and was ready for it.

“One man wants two hunderd and eighty, the other says he’s got a hunderd and seventy-three comin’.”

“That m-makes four hunderd and f-f-fifty-three dollars,” says Mark.

“And that hain’t all. The factory inspector’s there, and he says we can’t run another day till we build outside fire-escapes from the second and third floors made out of iron. Hain’t got no idee what that’ll cost, but plenty.”

“Um!... That all?”

“Hain’t it enough?”

“Suits me,” says Mark, “but b-b-before I start to work cleanin’ it up I want to be sure it’s all out. I don’t want nothin’ else p-poppin’ up when this is done.”

“You goin’ to try to fix this up?” says Silas, looking as astonished as if an angle-worm had looked up in his face and invited him to dinner.

“Hain’t g-goin’ to try,” says Mark. “I’m goin’ to d-do it.”

“Well,” says Silas, “I guess that’s about all. I can’t think of nothin’ else.”

“Thank goodness for that,” says I.

“P-probably take clost to a thousand dollars,” says Mark, mentioning a thousand dollars as if all he had to do was to reach into his pants pocket and haul it out.

“The sheriffs say they’re goin’ to take that machinery out of here in twenty-four hours.”

“Twenty-four hours, eh? Well, that’s quite a while, hain’t it? A f-feller kin do quite a lot in twenty-four hours if he hustles.... Now, Silas, you sit still on that log and enjoy bein’ m-m-miserable. That’s all I ask of you. Don’t do anythin’, because if you do you’ll git us into more t-trouble. Jest sit and think. Don’t talk to nobody and don’t sign anythin’ and don’t do anythin’. Us fellers’ll hustle around.”

“All right,” says Silas, “but it hain’t no use.”

“If you git p-pleasure out of thinkin’ so,” says Mark, “why, go ahead. I feel d-different.”

Mark started to walk off, and we followed him.

“Where you goin’?” says I.

“See a lawyer,” says he.

“What for?”

“Find out about them f-fire-escapes.”

Well, we went to a lawyer and told him, and he says the law wasn’t made to apply to cases such as ours, but that a factory inspector that was mean and crooked might make it twist around so as to make us trouble. He says that, anyhow, the factory inspector could shut us down for a spell till we fought it out, and fighting it out would be expensive.

“All right,” says Mark. “It’s Wiggamore b-behind all this. He’s got money and influence, and he’s fixed this all up. If we kin settle Wiggamore, we kin settle the whole thing. Let’s forgit about the f-f-fire-escapes and look into gittin’ money to satisfy them other claims.”

“’Most five hunderd dollars,” says I.

“That hain’t as bad as if it was f-f-five thousand,” says Mark.

Now wasn’t that just like him? Nothin’ was so bad in his eyes but what it could be a whole lot worse, and he always managed to look on the bright side. Not that he was given much to thinking things was easier and safer than they was, but he always let on that he could do what he had to and was thankful it wasn’t a lot more.

“Where’ll we git that money?”

“T-try the bank,” says he.

Well, we did that, but the president of the bank said he had helped us all he could. He would loan money on our bills of lading, but he couldn’t do any more. He wouldn’t take a mortgage on the mill, and he wouldn’t lend any other way. That was all there was to it. Mark thanked him for giving us his time, just like we had got what we wanted. He acted like that man had done him a favor, and out we went.

“Well?” says I.

“Didn’t expect m-much to git it there,” says he.

“Where do you expect to git it?”

“Don’t know. Got to t-t-think.”

“Then do it quick,” says I. “Time’s flyin’.”

“’Tain’t no use to try to b-borrow,” says he. “And if we did that’s jest p-puttin’ off trouble. We’d have to pay sometime. If we got to p-pay sometime, we might as well pay now.”

“Sure,” says I, sarcastic as vinegar. “That’s the way I feel. You jest hand me the money and I’ll run down and pay it.”

“Plunk,” says he, “the only part of your head that’s alive is your l-l-lower jaw. If you can’t help, don’t hinder.” Then he looked at me and grinned and says: “Now I hadn’t ought to have spoke that way, but I was worried and bothered and it jest s-slipped out. I know you’re helpin’ all you kin, and will be right there to back me up in the p-pinch. You hain’t mad about what I said, be you?”

Well, I was a mite hot, but what was a fellow to do when he spoke that way? It was my fault, anyhow, and I see that right off.

“Course I hain’t,” says I. “I got what was comin’ to me. I’ll shut up and obey orders.”

“Let’s see,” says he, “how does f-folks raise money? They b-borrow it or sell somethin’ and git it, or have it given to ’em—or else they hustle around and m-make it. We can’t borrow. We hain’t got n-nothin’ to sell, and nobody’s ............