"That's fortunate," Rod continued. "Because I shall have to close this house. I shall have to let everybody go."
"Yes, sir," Stagg murmured. He clasped his fingers across his knees and stared at the rug.
"I hate to do it," Rod went on. "But the way things stand, keeping up this place is more of a drain than I can afford. For a time I'm only a—a sort of steward of the Norquay estate. If I get out of the hole with anything left, you shall certainly have the pension to which you are entitled, Stagg. I'm acting under a very disagreeable necessity."
"Yes, sir," the man nodded. "I've been hoping it wouldn't be necessary, sir. Still, I've expected it."
"Oh, you have? How's that?"
"There's been talk, sir. It gets up here, sir, from town."
"Servants' talk?" Rod inquired.
"The kind of talk servants hears, sir," Stagg replied. "People are saying that you are a fool to ruin yourself over the Norquay Trust Company."
"I don't agree with them," Rod said impassively. "But they may be right. What do you think about it yourself, Stagg?"
"I had eleven thousand dollars on deposit in the Norquay Trust, sir," Stagg returned calmly. "About all we've saved in a lifetime of work, the missus and me. You can fancy what I think, Mr. Rod."