"They were City of Boston bonds. Seems to me they were—er—er—well, I forget just what—er—issue, you know, but that's what they were, City of Boston bonds."
"I see ... I see.... Humph! Seems kind of odd, doesn't it?"
"What?"
"Oh, nothin'. Only Phillips, accordin' to his tell, is pretty close to poverty. Yet he hung on to those two bonds all this time."
"Well, he had to hang on to something, didn't he? And he probably has a little more; if he hasn't what has he been living on?"
"Yes, that's so—that's so. Still.... However, we won't worry about that. Now, George, sit still a minute and let me think."
"But, Cap'n Kendrick, do you think there is a chance? I'm almost crazy. I—I——"
"Sshh! shh! I guess likely we'll get you off the rocks somehow. Let me think a minute or two."
So Kent possessed his soul in such patience as it could muster, while the wind howled about the old house, the wistaria vine rattled and scraped, the shutters groaned and whined, and the rain dashed and poured and dripped outside. At length the captain sat up straight in his chair.
"George," he said, briskly, "as I see it, first of all we want to find out just how this affair of yours stands. You write to those New York brokers and get from them a statement of your account—yours and Egbert's. Just what you've bought, how much margin has been put up, how much is left, about those bonds—kind, ratin', numbers and all that. Ask 'em to send you that by return mail. Will you?"