“No,” rejoined Garry, in a hopeless tone, “nothing will help but a certified check. Perhaps your Mr. Grayson might do something,” he continued in the same voice.
“Uncle Peter! Why, Garry, he doesn't earn ten thousand dollars in three years.”
Again there was silence.
“Well, would it be any use for you to ask Arthur Breen? He wouldn't give me a cent, and I wouldn't ask him. I don't believe in laying down on your wife's relations, but he might do it for you now that you're getting up in the world.”
Jack bent his head in deep thought. The proposal that his uncle had made him for the ore lands passed in review. At that time he could have turned over the property to Breen. But it was worthless now. He shook his head:
“I don't think so.” Then he added quickly—“Have you been to Mr. Morris?”
“No, and won't. I'd die first!” this came in a sharp, determined voice, as if it had jumped hot from his heart.
“But he thinks the world of you; it was only a week ago that he told Mr. MacFarlane that you were the best man he ever had in his office.”
“Yes,—that's why I won't go, Jack. I'll play my hand alone and take the consequences, but I won't beg of my friends; not a friend like Mr. Morris; any coward can do that. Mr. Morris believes in me,—I want him to continue to believe in me. That's worth twenty times ten thousand dollars.” His eyes flashed for the first time. Again the old Garry shone out.
“When must you have this money?”