No one demurred, and he left the room. When he had gone Arthur rose and walked to the window. He looked out. Presently he turned. “As to that twelve thousand?” he said. “That you said would pull us through? Is there no way of getting it? Can’t you think of any way, sir?”
“I am afraid not,” Ovington answered, shaking his head. “I see no way. I’ve strained our resources, I’ve tried every way. I see no way unless——”
“Yes, sir? Unless?”
“Unless—and I am afraid that there is no chance of that—your uncle could be induced to come forward and support us—in your interest.”
Arthur laughed aloud, but there was no mirth in the sound. “If that is your hope, if you have any idea of that kind, sir,” he said, “I am afraid you don’t know him yet. I know nothing less likely.”
“I am afraid that you are right. Still, your future is at stake. I am sorry that it is so, lad, but there it is. And if it could be made clear to him that he ran no risk?”
“But could it? Could it?”
“He would run no risk.”
“But could he be brought to see that?” Arthur spoke sharply, almost with contempt. “Of course he could not! If you knew what his attitude is towards banks generally, and bankers, you would see the absurdity of it! He hates the very name of Ovington’s.”
The other yielded. “Just so,” he said. Even to him the idea was unpalatable. “It was only a forlorn hope, a wild idea, lad, and I’ll say no more about it. It comes to this, that we must depend on ourselves, show a brave face, and hope for the best.”