Tom took the yellow envelope and sat up in a daze. Gathering his wits, he opened the message:
Assigned to Erie Bank. Creditors’ meeting Wednesday night. Letter follows. Wire further instructions.
Armstrong.
Wednesday night! It flashed upon Tom that to-day was Wednesday. He jumped out, bolted from the tent, and confronted the messenger. The telegram had been sent on Saturday, and was directed to the Royal Victoria Hotel.
“Why didn’t this get here sooner?” he demanded angrily.
“We didn’t get it till yesterday. I started out with it as soon as I could, but I tried to take a short cut and got turned around. Had to stay in the bush all night.”
Tom stifled an exclamation of impatience and despair. Armstrong had given up hope and made an assignment after all, unaware of all the wealth they had been accumulating in the north. Tom did some hard thinking in that moment. If the bankruptcy went through they might pay a hundred cents on the dollar, but it would leave nothing else. If it could be averted, the walnut would float the business with ease, with a prospect of better fortune.
“How long was I asleep? How’s father?” he demanded.
“You slept more’n an hour. Didn’t like to rouse you,” said Joe. “The boss kinder roused up once and said something, but then went off again. But I reckon he’s better.”
Tom went to look at Mr. Jackson, who looked slightly less deadlike, he thought. He would have given almost anything to be able to consult with him for just five minutes. But at this crisis of the whole affair Tom was forced to shoulder the entire responsibility.