"Ex-ACTLY! Well, they owed this—Mr. an' Mis' Holly did—and they had agreed ter pay it next Sat'day. And they was all right, too. They had it plum saved in the bank, an' was goin' ter draw it Thursday, ter make sure. An' they was feelin' mighty pert over it, too, when ter-day along comes the news that somethin's broke kersmash in that bank, an' they've shet it up. An' nary a cent can the Hollys git now—an' maybe never. Anyhow, not 'fore it's too late for this job."
"But won't he wait?—that man they owe it to? I should think he'd have to, if they didn't have it to pay."
"Not much he will, when it's old Streeter that's got the mortgage on a good fat farm like this!"
David drew his brows together perplexedly.
"What is a—a mortgage?" he asked. "Is it anything like a porte-cochere? I KNOW what that is, 'cause my Lady of the Roses has one; but we haven't got that—down here."
Perry Larson sighed in exasperation.
"Gosh, if that ain't 'bout what I expected of ye! No, it ain't even second cousin to a—a-that thing you're a-talkin' of. In plain wordin', it's jest this: Mr. Holly, he says ter Streeter: 'You give me a thousand dollars and I'll pay ye back on a sartin day; if I don't pay, you can sell my farm fur what it'll bring, an' TAKE yer pay. Well, now here 't is. Mr. Holly can't pay, an' so Streeter will put up the farm fur sale."
"What, with Mr. and Mrs. Holly LIVING here?"
"Sure! Only they'll have ter git out, ye know."
"Where'll they go?"