“All right. And I have about as much more. There's a good start. Now, mother, it is your turn. What is that little bit of paper of yours?”
Mrs. Denver unfolded it, and placed it upon Harold's knee.
“Five thousand pounds!” he gasped.
“Ah, but mother is not the only rich one. Look at this!” And the Admiral unfolded his cheque, and placed it upon the other knee.
Harold gazed from one to the other in bewilderment. “Ten thousand pounds!” he cried. “Good heavens! where did these come from?”
“You will not worry any longer, dear,” murmured his mother, slipping her arm round him.
But his quick eye had caught the signature upon one of the cheques. “Doctor Walker!” he cried, flushing. “This is Clara's doing. Oh, dad, we cannot take this money. It would not be right nor honorable.”
“No, boy, I am glad you think so. It is something, however, to have proved one's friend, for a real good friend he is. It was he who brought it in, though Clara sent him. But this other money will be enough to cover everything, and it is all my own.”
“Your own? Where did you get it, dad?”
“Tut, tut! See what it is to have a City man to deal with. It is my own, and fairly earned, and that is enough.”