"It's money you owe," she said, her blue eyes anxiously fixed on
Marshall's face.
He nodded. "Yes. When your mother was sick, your father asked my bank here to lend him a thousand dollars for two years. Now, your father is very poor. He doesn't own anything that's worth a thousand dollars and I knew he could never pay it back. So I told him he must get some one to promise to pay that money for him if he couldn't, at the end of the two years. Understand?"
Lydia nodded.
"Well, he got John Levine. Now the two years are up and unless that thousand dollars is paid, the people whose money I take care of in the bank, will each lose some of that thousand. See?"
Lydia stared at him, struggling to take in the explanation. "I see," she said. "But if you'd pay a thousand dollars for me, that would fix it all up."
"Why Lydia, do you mean you would leave your father?"
"I wouldn't want to," she answered earnestly, "but Lizzie could take care of Daddy. He doesn't really need me. There isn't anybody really needs me—needs me—now—"
She swallowed a sob, then went on. "Mr. Levine just mustn't pay it.
He's awful worried. His land's fixed so's he'd never get over it. And
he's the best friend we have in all the world. He just mustn't pay it.
It would kill mother, if she knew. Oh, she hated borrowing so."
Marshall chewed his cigar. "Levine," he growled, "is a long legged crook."
Lydia flew out of her chair and shook her fist in the banker's face. "Don't you dare say that!" she cried. "He's a dear lamb, that's what he is."