"Giving up is out of the question at present," Jack answered solemnly, as if he was passing his word at the bar. "Our balance at the bank has been expended, and we have some notes out that must be cared for in a month's time. Wages are falling, and it seems to look now as if we were coming back to the era of cheap living. The bargain was the ruling rate of wages, you know. I think they will have to come down."
"I will not give up beaten," declared Winston. "I'll have one more try. Keep up heart, shipmate."
With that Winston started West again. He talked, he plead, he offered for the mere cost of production,—just to get the money back would be something. The coal-venture of this winter had been much larger, though coal was declining, and the profit somewhat less. Everybody pared the margin to the mere skin. Winston had a little luck, however. Two sales of some note were effected, and a barter, that only a man with a shrewd eye for bargains, and a glib tongue, could have managed. Flour, apples, and potatoes were the stock this time. The workmen took them gladly, at a little less than store prices. They knew how full the wareroom kept all the time.
The first of January, wages were lowered. There was a little grumbling among some of the men, but the women took it in wiser part. The half-loaf was much better than no bread at all. They remembered the dismal year when there had been no employment, and stinted food purchased on credit. One wouldn't starve with flour and potatoes, nor freeze with a full coal-bin.
Hope Mills had exhausted every source,—had even paid a horrible discount, being hard run,—when Darcy wrote to Miss McLeod a true statement of affairs. If they could hold out until spring, times might be better. They were economizing as they never had before: yet the time had come when disaster really stared them in the face, unless they could find a true friend.
Miss Barry had generously offered him her store and her credit. Though there had been a time when she withheld Sylvie, and fancied Jack Darcy not quite the equal of her pretty niece, that time had long gone by. She knew now his genuine worth,—she had tested his integrity. Of course Sylvie would drift that way; and so, by many delicate turns, she showed Jack that she could trust him with any of her treasures.
"You are so good," said the honest fellow, with tears in his eyes,—for he was touched beyond measure. "If I can't get through I will gladly accept, unless the prospect is so bad that it would be sure to jeopardize any one's money. But I hope it will not come to that."
How breathlessly he waited for Miss McLeod's answer! The morning's mail did not bring it; night closed in without it. A chill drizzle had set in, freezing as it fell, and the keen air fairly flayed one's skin. Yet he dreaded to go in-doors, to hear his mother's pleasant voice. Cousin Jane had been called away by the illness and possible death of a relative, so they two were alone.
When Mrs. Darcy saw her son so grave and pre-occupied, his eyes sadly pathetic with trouble, mother-like, she tried to comfort with the small talk that women often offer, and that answers the purpose like bathing one's brow with Florida-water in a severe headache. She never mentioned business to him when in such moods. Now it was a bit of newspaper-gossip, concerning some discoveries in Greece, that he and Maverick had been quite eager about.
The poor fellow was distraught, and could not listen. He ate his supper, choking down the food, for her dear sake, missing strangely Cousin Jane's pungency and seasoning. Then he tried to interest himself in the paper, but could not; he paced the floor softly; he whistled a tune, for his mother's benefit also, but broke down in the middle.