“Won't you help a girl who needs help so much? You're a Christian man, you say.”
“That's just why I can't lie about this money. I'll have to tell 'em I'm lending it.”
“You will be lending it.”
“How's that, miss?”
“For your trouble in the matter I'll let you collect the interest for yourself at six per cent. Oh, Deacon Rowley, all you need to do is hand over the money, and say you prefer not to talk about it. You're a smart business man; you'll know what to say without speaking a falsehood. You'll break my heart if you refuse. Think! You're only helping me to help my own father. He has foolish notions about this. You can say you'll let them have it for a year, and you'll get three hundred dollars interest for your trouble.”
“I don't believe they'll ever make enough to pay the interest—much less the principal.”
“Give them five thousand dollars and draw a year's interest for yourself out of my interest that has accrued.”
“Say, how old be you?”
“I'll be twenty-two in June.”
Deacon Rowley looked at her calculatingly, fingering his nose.