"He's here—the bailiff—waiting on the stairs, but he can't get in. I locked the door and kept the key; here it is." With an expressive twinkle of her eyes she whisked it out of her pocket, and put it into his hand.
Mr. Standish sat down, looked at Meg, scarce understanding. "Bailiff!" he repeated. "Then Gilbert has not paid! I backed his bill because I trusted his sacred promise that he would meet it in time!"
"It was kind, but foolish," said Meg briefly.
"He wrote the other day to say he would make it all right with Samuels, when I told him of the writ. He assured me the money was going by the next post," Mr. Standish went on blankly.
"He's an old cheat," said Meg, with scornful directness of speech.
"What is to be done? I have no money, Meg," said the young man, with a wretched flicker of a smile.
"Pawn your watch and chain—they're real gold; they're big and heavy; they'll raise the money," said Meg, with her usual unhesitancy.
The journalist flushed red. "I can't, Meg!" He drew the watch out of his pocket. It was a large hunting watch, that had been presented to the rector, his father. Inside the lid the names of the donors were inscribed in minute characters. "I can't, Meg," he repeated, looking at it and shaking his head. "A token of affectionate gratitude, a testimonial to his faithful work—I can't place it where there are so many associations that are disgraceful. It would be degradation——"
"Not a bit of it!" said Meg with fearless rapidity, as he rose and walked up and down the attic. "You'll get it back soon. You'll work hard to get it out. If you don't pawn it you'll have to let that man in," nodding in the direction of the staircase. "He'll sit in your room. You'll be able to do no work with him there, smelling of gin, and his red face looking at you. He'll take the silver ink-bottle—and the books. Pawn your watch, and if you work hard you'll get it out soon."
"Wise, practical Meg," said Mr. Standish, scarcely able to repress a smile, moving irresolutely about the little room.