"Very well, but father can find another position, and he can never find another son like Walter." Eleanor's eyes sparkled with determination. "We may be poor just now, but you have said a hundred times that you are rich in your two children. It seems to me that you have lost half your fortune. At least, you don't know where he is."
Mr. Horatio Goodwin made no argument. His gaze was rather absent as he sat looking at his impulsive daughter. She had echoed what was in his own mind, but he could not make it seem practicable. Mrs. Goodwin revealed what was closest to her own heart by exclaiming unsteadily:
"I was awake most of the night trying to plan this very thing, Horatio. Oh, I want you to go to Panama and bring Walter straight home with you. Why, Eleanor and I would take in washing if necessary. Is it impossible?"
"Nothing is impossible if you try hard enough," gravely affirmed Eleanor. "There is Joan of Arc, for instance. She is my favorite character in history. Just think what she went through——"
"The comparison is a little far-fetched," said Mr. Goodwin, as he looked at the clock and went into the hall to put on his overcoat. He was usually at his desk on the stroke of the clock, but now he lingered. All his days he had walked in the beaten path of habit, a methodical man unaccustomed to veering off at sudden tangents. Now he had been violently lifted from the rut and his mind was in rebellion. He had been afraid of poverty, but this anxiety was overshadowed. Mrs. Goodwin followed him into the hall. Her troubled face was so eloquent that he said:
"It is not really impossible, my dear. I could raise the money for the trip, either on my note, or by placing a small mortgage on the house."
"You need not worry about leaving us," she replied. "There is a little left in the savings-bank, and we can get along nicely."
"Oh, you blessed daddy," cried Eleanor, her arms around his neck. "When can you start? I will help mother find your summer clothes in the attic, and pack the little black trunk. You are going to the tropics, you know."
"There is no hurry, my young fly-away. Matters are not in shape to go at a moment's notice."
He was not as deliberate as his words indicated. On the way to the coal office he bought a New York newspaper and turned to the shipping advertisements. A steamer was scheduled to sail direct to Colon that very afternoon at five o'clock, and there would be no more departures for several days. Mr. Goodwin wore a hopeless air. It seemed utterly out of the question for him to take this steamer, although a train connection from Wolverton would enable him to reach the wharf by four o'clock. Unreconciled to the delay, he entered the coal office and listlessly took the ledgers and journals from the safe.