“Yes, I see it,—and that's not all I see. Is it your work here or in New York? I want to know, and I'm going to know, and I have a right to know, and you are not going to bed until you tell me,—nor will I. I can and will help you, and so will Mr. MacFarlane, and Uncle Peter, and everybody I ask. What's gone wrong?—Tell me!”
Garry continued to walk the floor. Then he wheeled suddenly and threw himself into his chair.
“Well, Jack,” he answered with an indrawn sigh,—“if you must know, I'm on the wrong side of the market.”
“Stocks?”
“Not exactly. The bottom's fallen out of the Warehouse Company.”
Jack's heart gave a rebound. After all, it was only a question of money and this could be straightened out. He had begun to fear that it might be something worse; what, he dared not conjecture.
“And you have lost money?” Jack continued in a less eager tone.
“A whole lot of money.”
“How much?”
“I don't know, but a lot. It went up three points to-day and so I am hanging on by my eyelids.”