Dick, struggling into his overcoat, turned at the Major's touch on his arm.
"Just a minute, Dick." Major Verney's genial voice was sympathetic as a woman's. "Remember that what the Colonel refused in prosperity he's not likely to take in adversity. Sit down here by the fire until we talk it over."
"But, Major"--there was a note of anguish in the boy's voice--"I must go to him. Think of Uncle Noah selling himself to help them, and I--"
But the Major had already removed the overcoat and gently pushed his guest into a chair by the fire. "Yes, yes," he said as he seated himself; "we know all about that, my boy; but I'm afraid, Dick," he added regretfully, "that the Colonel wouldn't let you in. He's very bitter."
Dick groaned. He was calmer now. "You're right, Major," he said steadily; "it hurt so at first that I didn't think. I can't go now." He leaned forward anxiously. "The Cotesville Bank--?" he questioned abruptly.
"Crashed in the autumn--in September." Dick bit his lip, and the Major added: "He was heavily interested?"
Dick stared at the fire. "It was all he had," he said.
"I see." The Major's quiet voiced gave no hint of his own emotion. "I didn't know. Of course I heard he had lost something; we all did; but I thought he had other money."
"No. Tell me, Major, you've been going to Brierwood this winter just as usual?"
"Of course; every Wednesday night. The Colonel and I are too old to alter the habit of a lifetime, and besides we both love that long evening playing chess. There's always a roaring wood fire and a steaming pot of coffee, and your mother always plays Beethoven for us just before I go."