“I think you're biting off your nose to spite your face, Uncle Seth. The Laguna Grande Lumber Company needs that outlet. In dollars and cents, what is it worth to the Company?”
“If I thought I couldn't get it from Cardigan a few months from now, I'd go as high as a hundred thousand for it to-night,” he answered coolly.
“In that event, I advise you to take it for fifty thousand. It's terribly hard on old Mr. Cardigan to have to sell it, even at that price.”
“You do not understand these matters, Shirley. Don't try. And don't waste your sympathy on that old humbug. He has to dig up fifty thousand dollars to pay on his bonded indebtedness, and he's finding it a difficult job. He's just sparring for time, but he'll lose out.”
As if to indicate that he considered the matter closed, the Colonel drew his chair toward the fire, picked up a magazine, and commenced idly to slit the pages. Shirley studied the back of his head for some time, then got out some fancy work and commenced plying her needle. And as she plied it, a thought, nebulous at first, gradually took form in her head until eventually she murmured loud enough for the Colonel to hear:
“I'll do it.”
“Do what?” Pennington queried.
“Something nice for somebody who did something nice for me,” she answered.
“That McTavish girl?” he suggested.
“Poor Moira! Isn't she sweet, Uncle Seth? I'm going to give her that black suit of mine. I've scarcely worn it—”