“You don't look happy,” he remarked.
“I don't feel particularly happy,” Charnock replied. “In fact, the reckoning I've just made looks very like a notice to quit.” He threw Festing a paper and swept the others into a drawer. “You might examine the calculations and see if they're right. I'm not fond of figures.”
“That was obvious long since. However, if you'll keep quiet for a few minutes——”
Festing studied the paper, which contained a rough statement of Charnock's affairs. The balance was against him, but Festing thought it might be wiped off, or at least pulled down, by economy and well-directed effort. The trouble was that Charnock disliked economy, and of late had declined to make a fight. Festing doubted if he could be roused, but meant to try.
“I see an error of a hundred dollars, but that doesn't make much difference. Things look pretty bad, but I imagine they could be straightened out.”
“How long would it take you to put them straight?”
“Three years,” said Festing, when he had made a rough calculation. “That is, if I got moderately good crops, but I'd cut out drinks, the pool game, and some other extravagances. You want to keep away from the settlement.”
“You'd cut out all that makes life bearable,” Charnock replied, and added while his face went hard: “Besides, three years is too long.”
Festing thought he understood. The portrait of an English girl hung on the wall behind the stove, and Charnock had already been some time in Canada.
“Anyhow,” the latter resumed, “you take much for granted if you count upon a moderately good crop; I haven't got one yet. We're told this is a great country for the small farmer, and perhaps it is, so long as he escapes a dry June, summer hail, rust, and autumn frost. As a matter of fact, I've suffered from the lot!”