“I have some ideas,” she said; “some that I had thought I might use after I had finished school and come back to the store. They may not be worth much; they were schemes for building up the business there and adding some other sorts of business to it. The first thing I shall do is to see how bad the situation really is.”
“I hope it isn't bad. Poor Zoeth certainly has had trouble enough in his life.”
There was a significance in his tone which Mary plainly did not understand.
“What trouble do you mean?” she asked.
The Judge looked at her, coughed, and then said hastily: “Oh, nothing in particular; every one of us has troubles, I suppose. But, Mary, if—if you find that the story is true and—ahem—a little money might help to—er—tide the firm over—why, I—I think perhaps that it might be—ahem—arranged so that—”
He seemed to be having difficulty in finishing the sentence. Mary did not wait to hear the end.
“Thank you, Judge,” she said quickly. “Thank you, but I am hoping it may not be so bad as that. I am going back there, you know, and—well, as Uncle Shadrach would say, we may save the ship yet. At any rate, we won't call for help until the last minute.”
Judge Baxter regarded her with admiration.
“Shadrach and Zoeth are rich in one respect,” he declared; “they've got you. But it is a wicked shame that you must give up your school and your opportunities to—”
She held up her hand.