“Why, my dear boy! Is it so bad as that? I thought you were joking.”
“I tried to joke about it while Mr. Cohen was here, but he saw through it, I know, from the way he spoke: but this really is a very serious matter; more serious than anything that ever happened to me.”
Peter walked to the sofa and sat down. Jack's manner and the tone of his voice showed that a grave calamity had overtaken the boy. He sat looking into Jack's eyes.
“Go on,” he said, his heart in his mouth.
“I must have ten thousand dollars. How and where can I borrow it?”
Peter started. “Ten thousand dollars!” he repeated in undisguised surprise. “Whew! Why, Jack, that's a very large sum of money for you to want. Why, my dear boy, this is—well—well!”
“It is not for me, Uncle Peter—or I would not come to you for it.”
“For whom is it, then?” Peter asked, in a tone that showed how great was his relief now that Jack was not involved.
“Don't ask me, please.”
Peter was about to speak, but he checked himself. He saw it all now. The money was for MacFarlane, and the boy did not like to say so. He had heard something of Henry's financial difficulties caused by the damage to the “fill.” He thought that this had been made good; he saw now that he was misinformed.