“Yes, that’s it; you’ve hit the nail. I owe him and I must pay, and that’s why I sell my clothes. I owe him money,—him,—that’s capital.”
He had told her that he had no debts and she believed him, and had been so glad, and thought he had broken from his old associates and habits, and was trying to do better. And it was not so at all; he had not broken off; he still had dealings with a mysterious Joe, whoever he might be. Some great hulking fellow, no doubt, who drank, and raced, and gambled, and had led Everard astray. Rossie’s heart was very sad and her voice full of sorrow as she asked next:
“Was it gambling? Was it at play that you incurred this debt?”
“Yes, by George, you’ve hit it again!” he exclaimed, catching at the word play. “It was a play, and for fun I thought at first, but it proved to be the real thing,—a lark,—a sell,—a trap. By Jove, I b’lieve it was a trap, and they meant me to fall into it; I do, upon my word, and I fell, and now Joe must have fifty dollars from me.”
“Fifty dollars!” and Rossie gasped at the enormous sum.
Where would he get it? Where could he get it? Not from his father, that was certain, and not from her, for her quarterly interest on her two thousand dollars was not due in weeks, and even if it were, it was not fifty dollars. Perhaps Miss Belknap would loan it if she were to ask her, and assume the payment herself. But in that case she must give the reason, and she would not for the world compromise Everard by so much as a breath of censure. Bee must think well of him at all costs, for Rossie’s heart was quite as much set on Beatrice’s being the mistress of Forrest House, some day, as the mother’s had been. She could not borrow of Miss Belknap, but,—Rossie started from her chair as quickly as if she had been struck, while her hands involuntarily clutched her luxuriant hair, rippling in heavy masses down her back. She could do that for Mr. Everard, but her face was white to her lips, which quivered a little as she resumed her seat, and said:
“What is Joe’s other name? Joe what?”
Everard looked at her cunningly a moment, and then replied:
“Guess!”
“I can’t,” she replied, “I have nothing to start from; nothing to guide me; I might guess all day, and not get it.”