"Why, how can I do less?" he answered. "That claim will doubtless be worth half a million, maybe more—if all I hear is reliable—and I get it from disinterested parties. The boy has done a good big thing. I've got to help him out. It seems too bad to offer him only half of what he needs, but I'm not a very wealthy man. I can't be utterly Quixotic. We've all got to help him all we can."
"Oh, thank you, Searle—thank you for saying 'we,'" she said in a voice that slightly trembled. "I'm glad of the chance—glad to show dear Glen that a sister can help a little, too."
He stared at her with an excellent imitation of surprise in his gaze.
"You'll—help?" he said in astonishment, masterfully simulated. "Not with the other thirty thousand?"
"Why not?" she cried. "Why not, when Glen has the chance of his life? You don't really think I'd hesitate?"
"But," said he, leading her onward, "he needs the money now—at once. You'd have to get it here by wire, and all that sort of trouble."
"Then we'd better get things started," she said. "You'll help me, Searle, I'm sure."
"If you wish it," said Bostwick, "certainly."
"Dear Glen!" she said. "Dear boy! I'll write him a letter at once."
Bostwick started, alertly, as she ran in her girlish pleasure to a stand where she had placed her materials for writing.