'If we'd really got her for that, yes. But look at the capital it takes. Building up. I had just a thousand more, a bond. Threw that in last month, you know.'
'Oh'—breathed Henry, fright in his eyes—'I forgot about that.'
'And you can't raise a cent.'
Henry tried to think this over. He started to speak; swallowed; slipped off the table; stood there; lifted his cane and sighted along it out the window.
'I can—November seventh,' he finally remarked.
Humphrey blew a smoke-ring; followed it with his eyes.
'My boy, nations, worlds, constellations, may crash between now and November seventh.'
'I—I could tackle my uncle again,' murmured Henry, out of a despairing face.
There was at times an acid quality in Humphrey. Henry felt it in him now, as he said dryly:—
'As I recall your last transaction with your uncle, Hen, he told you finally that you couldn't have one cent of your principal before November seventh.'