Jack Carleton frowned. It was easy enough to see that the confession of his sins was little less than torture to him. “Well,” he began, a trifle defiantly, “it’s like this. I’ve got in a trifle deeper than I meant to when I started. Things looked so like a cinch, I couldn’t help it. I’ve fifteen hundred shares of Suburban Electric, and seven hundred Akme Mining, and five hundred Fuel, and a little other stuff besides. My heaviest account’s with Turner and Driver; then I’ve got an account with Harris and Wheeler, and another with Claxton Brothers; altogether—”
Piece by piece the whole story came out. Henry Carleton wrote, figured, meditated; asked a question here, another there; meditated again. Finally he seemed to make up his mind. He spoke with deliberation, weighing his words. “No one can tell,” he said, “what the next twenty-four hours are going to bring. But what you ought to do is clear. You’ve got to lighten up, to start with. Close out your account with Harris, and with the Claxtons; hang on to what you have at Turner and Driver’s, if you can. That’s enough; and that’s our problem: how best to try to carry it through.”
As if the words brought him measureless comfort, Jack drew a long breath of relief. “You think, then,” he asked, almost timidly, “you can fix it somehow? You think you can get me by?”
Henry Carleton did not at once reply, and when he finally spoke, it was but to answer Jack’s question with another. “Have you done everything you can yourself?” he queried. “Where else have you tried?”
Jack gave a short mirthless laugh. “Where haven’t I tried?” he retorted. “I’ve tackled about every friend and acquaintance I’ve got in the world. I began four days ago. And I’ve had the same identical come-back from every one of them. They’re sorry, but they have to look out for themselves first. And security. They all talk about that. I never knew before that security cut such a lot of ice with people. But it does.”
Henry Carleton nodded grimly. “Yes, it does,” he answered dryly, “most of us make that discovery sooner or later. And generally for ourselves, too. And when you mention security, Jack, you’ve come right down to the root of the whole trouble. We might as well acknowledge it now. I can’t help you myself. I tell you so frankly. I couldn’t use trust funds for such a purpose, of course. Any one would tell you that. That’s out of the question. And my own money is hopelessly tied up. I couldn’t get the sum you need under a month, if I could then. But there’s one thing I might do. It isn’t business. I hate to try it. But I don’t want to see you disgraced, Jack, if I can help it. Wait here a minute, till I see—”
He rose and walked over to the telephone booth in the rear of his office, and entering, closed the door behind him. In two minutes he came back to his desk, penciled a name on a card, and handed it to Jack. “This fellow Farrington,” he said shortly, “is under some obligations to me. I think you’ll get what you want from him. Better see him anyway. He’s in the Jefferson Building, top floor. I told him you’d be there in ten minutes, at the most.”
Jack Carleton rose. “I’m much obliged, Henry,” he said, a little lamely, “you’re very good. I’m much obliged. I’ll go right over, of course.”
The other stood gazing at him with a curious expression on his swarthy face, a curious gleam far back in his dark eyes. “Don’t mention it,” he said smoothly, “Carletons must stand together, Jack. We mustn’t bring dishonor on the name, whatever we do.”
Unerringly he had pierced the weak joint in the armor. Jack’s face went whiter than before. He stood for a moment silent, then spoke with effort. “No,” he answered, “we mustn’t do that,” and turning, he left the room.