"Well, anyhow I have failed, and the farm is in a bad way," he repeated, rather shortly. "Your father has been pressed for money, probably not only since I have been here; he has been obliged to get it as best he could to pay the men's wages. He has got some of it from Hoad."
"From Hoad!" repeated I. "Not as a favor?"
"No," continued he, with a laugh; "your father is indebted to Hoad, probably for a large amount. I fear it. But not as a favor. Hoad is the man to know well enough what rate of interest to charge; and he is threatening now to press him for payment. So long as your father could be useful to him, so long as he hoped to get his help towards securing the Radical seat for Thorne, he was forbearing enough—made out that he would wait any length of time for it, I dare say; but now it's a different matter. Thorne lost the seat and Mr. Hoad some advantage he would have had out of the affair. He doesn't mean to be considerate any more. He means to press for his money."
"How could father ever trust such a man, ever have any dealings with him?" cried I, indignantly. "It's horrible to think he could have done it. But now, of course, he must be paid at once, and we must never, never see him again."
Harrod was silent.
"Why does father stop there arguing with him?" cried I, looking back towards the library window. "How can he condescend to do it? Why doesn't he pay him his money and tell him to be off?"
"Perhaps your father hasn't got the money, Miss Margaret," said Harrod, slowly, after a pause.
"Not got it!" cried I. "How much is it?"
"I don't know," he answered, "but I'm afraid it's more than your father has at hand at the moment. He must need all his ready cash to pay the men, and there's the rent due presently."