,
braved the shrewd east wind in its adversity, and trembled in melancholy accord
with the shrill complainings of a cabinet piano, wasting away, a string a day,
and faintly resounding to the noises of the street in its jangling and
distracted brain. Of motionless clocks that never stirred a finger, and seemed
as incapable of being successfully wound up, as the pecuniary affairs of their
former owners, there was always great choice in Mr. Brogley's shop; and various
looking-glasses, accidentally placed at compound interest of reflection and
refraction, presented to the eye an eternal perspective of bankruptcy and ruin.
    Mr. Brogley himself was a moist-eyed, pink-complexioned, crisp-haired man,
of a bulky figure and an easy temper - for that class of Caius Marius who sits
upon the ruins of other people's Carthages, can keep up his spirits well enough.
He had looked in at Solomon's shop sometimes to ask a question about articles in
Solomon's way of business; and Walter knew him sufficiently to give him good day
when they met in the street, but as that was the extent of the broker's
acquaintance with Solomon Gills also, Walter was not a little surprised when he
came back in the course of the forenoon, agreeably to his promise, to find Mr.
Brogley sitting in the back parlour with his hands in his pockets, and his hat
hanging up behind the door.
    »Well, Uncle Sol!« said Walter. The old man was sitting ruefully on the
opposite side of the table, with his spectacles over his eyes, for a wonder,
instead of on his forehead. »How are you now?«
    Solomon shook his head, and waved one hand towards the broker, as
introducing him.
    »Is there anything the matter?« asked Walter, with a catching in his breath.
    »No, no. There's nothing the matter,« said Mr. Brogley. »Don't let it put
you out of the way.«
    Walter looked from the broker to his uncle in mute amazement.
    »The fact is,« said Mr. Brogley, »there's a little payment on a bond debt -
three hundred and seventy odd, over due: and I'm in possession.«
    »In possession!« cried Walter, looking round at the shop.
    »Ah!« said Mr. Brogley, in confidential assent, and nodding his head as if
he would urge the advisability of their all being comfortable together. »It's an
execution. That's what
