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The publishers laughed at the idea, sensibly, but finding that Peabody was up for a trade, they traced out the accounts, etc., and for a five dollar bill, Mr. Peabody was put in possession of an account of some twenty odd dollars and cents against Dr. P. St. C. Smith.

Now Peabody had, some time previous to this transaction, established a peculiar kind of Telegraph, a human galvanic battery, or endless chain of them, extending all over the country, for collecting bad debts, and shocking fugitives, or stubborn creditors! By a continuation of faculties, causes and effects–shrewdness and forethought peculiar to a man capable of seeing considerably deep into millstones–Peabody couldn’t be dodged. If he ever got his feelers on to a subject, the equivalent was bound to be turning up! It struck him that the collection of newspaper bills afforded him a great field for working his Telegraph, and he hasn’t been mistaken.

The scene now changes; early one morning in the pleasant month of June, as the poet might say, Dr. Pendleton St. Clair Smith was to be seen before his toilet glass in the flourishing city of Syracuse,–giving the finishing stroke to his highly-cultivated beard. The satisfaction with which he made this demonstration, evinced the sereneness of his mind and the confidence with which he rested, in regard to his newspaper ‘bills in Boston. But a tap is heard at his door, and at his invitation the servant comes in, announces a gentleman in the parlor, desirous of speaking to Dr. Smith. The Doctor waits upon the visitor–

“Dr. Pendleton St. Clair Smith, I presume?”

“Ye-e-s,” slowly and suspiciously responded that individual.

“I am collector, sir,” continued the stranger, “for the firm of Peabody, Grab, Catchem, and Co., Boston. I have a small (!) bill against you, sir, to collect.”

“What for?” eagerly quoth the Doctor.

“Newspaper subscriptions and advertising, sir!”

“I a–I a, you a–well, you call in this evening,” says the Doctor, tremulously fumbling in his pockets–“I’ll settle with you; good morning.”

“Good morning, sir,” says the collector,–“I’ll call.”

That afternoon, Dr. Pendleton St. Clair Smith vamosed! He had barely got located in Syracuse, before they had traced him; if he paid the printer, a cloud of other debts would follow, and so he up stakes and made a fresh dive!

“Now,” says Dr. P. St. C. Smith, as he dumped himself and baggage down in the beautiful city of Chicago, “Now I’ll be out of the range of the duns; they won’t get sight or hearing of me, for a while, I’ll bet a hat!”

But, alas! for the delusion; the very next morning, a very suspicious, hatchet-faced individual, made himself known as the deputed collector of certain newspaper accounts, forwarded from Boston, by Peabody, Grab, Catchem, & Co. The Dr. uttered a very severe anathema; he looked quite streaked, he faltered; he then desired the collector to call in course of the day, and the bill would be attended to. The collector hoped it would be attended to, and left; so did Dr. P. St. C. Smith in the next mail line.

About one month after the affair in Chicago, Dr. P. St. C. Smith was seen strutting around in Charters st., New Orleans, confident in his security, smiling in the brightness of the scenes around him; he had just negotiated for an office, had already concocted his advertisements, and subscribed for the papers, when lo! the same due bill from Boston appeared to him, in the hand of an agent of Peabody, Grab, Catchem & Co. The Dr. was almost tempted to pay the bill! But, then, perhaps the agent had a hat full of others–from the same place–for larger amounts! The next day the Doctor put for Texas! planting himself in the pleasant town of Bexar, and cursing duns from the bottom of his heart–he determined to keep clear of them, even if he had to bury himself away out here in Texas. But what was his horror to find, the first week of his hanging up in Bexar, that an agent of the firm of Peabody, Grab, Catchem & Co., was there! The Doctor stepped to Galveston; on the way he accidentally met a travelling agent of Peabody, Grab, Catchem & Co. The Doctor took the Sabine slide for Tampico; there he found the “black vomit.” He up and off again, for Mobile; his nervous system was much worked up and his pocket-book sadly depleted! There were two alternatives–change his name, size and profession, and live in a swamp; or settle with the firm of Peabody, Grab, Catchem & Co. Dr. Pendleton St. Clair Smith chose the latter; he sought and soon found in Mobile, a veritable agent, duly authorized to receive and forward funds for Peabody, Grab, Catchem & Co., and hunt up and down–fugitives from the printer! The Doctor paid up–felt better, and learned the moral fact that delinquent subscribers are no longer to be the printers’ ghosts.