“True,” he assented. Then with a large air of erudition: “The law, however, provides for such cases as this. When the security of the mortgager is in jeopardy through incompetence or other causes he can foreclose immediately.”
Kate paled as she listened.
“But there’s no danger, Mr. Wentz,” she protested breathlessly. “Your money’s as safe as when Uncle Joe was living. I understand sheep—he said I was a better sheepman than he was because I had more patience and like them. I’ll watch them closer than ever—day or night I’ll never leave them. I’ll promise you! I’ve got a good herder now and between us we can handle them.”
Mr. Wentz shrugged a skeptical shoulder.
“You couldn’t convince the directors of that. There’s none of ’em wants to risk the bank’s money with a woman in that kind of business.”
“But can’t you see,” she pleaded, “that it’s ruin to ship now? It will wipe me out completely. Put some one out there of your own choosing, if you can’t trust me, but don’t make me sell with the bottom out of the market!”
“You’ve got the bank’s decision,” he responded, coldly.
“Please—please reconsider! Just give me a chance—you won’t be sorry! I only know sheep—I’ve never had the opportunity to learn anything else, and I’ve no place to go but that little homestead back in the hills. I’ve no one in the world to turn to. Won’t you give me a trial, and then if you see I can’t handle it—”
“It’s no use arguin’.” Wentz brought both hands down on the arms of the chair in impatient finality. “We’re goin’ to ship as soon as we can get cars and drive to the railroad, so you might as well turn them sheep over and stop hollerin’.”
Kate rose and took a step forward, her hands outstretched in entreaty: