"How much have you got?" he smiled.
"About two thousand in the bank, another couple of thousand in negotiable securities—oh, about ten thousand, roughly, including the real-estate. We could sell that. I'll look after it first thing after breakfast."
"Ten thousand dollars is neither here nor there, Philip," said his uncle, shaking his head slowly. "I could raise such a sum by the mere request. Perhaps if it were five times the amount—— Just the same I am grateful for your offer, my boy."
"Fifty thousand dollars!" murmured Phil. "It's a lot of money when you haven't got it."
The Honorable Milton glanced at the clock on the mantel and gave an exclamation.
"It's time you and I were in bed. I hear Stinson just coming in.
Everything's all right. I'm going to turn in now."
At the foot of the stairs he paused to lay a hand on his nephew's shoulder and there was unwonted gentleness in his manner.
"Good-night, Philip. And thank you for the—the 'flower of folly,'" he said awkwardly.
For a moment Kendrick stood watching the Honorable Milton Waring as he mounted the stairs slowly, a heavy hand upon the banister rail. The gray head was bowed. There was an air of dejection in the whole figure as of one who tastes the bitterness of defeat.