"I am really sorry, Plotman; but, to tell you just how it is, I am so much involved in this fearful monetary pressure that I have no time nor heart for anything else."
"Confounded spooney!" muttered Plotman, between his teeth. "If I'd known he was so weak in the knees. I'd have gone in for Spreadeagle, who offered a handsome figure."
"Come in to-morrow, Plotman, and we'll talk about it. I can't think about it now. I'll make all right with you."
Still muttering, the disappointed politician departed, leaving Sandford in a deeper abyss than before. To prevent unwelcome visits, the latter left word with his clerks that he could see no one whatever.
To wile away the time, he took out his cash-book and private papers.
There was about a thousand dollars in bank.
"It will be best to draw that," thought he, "for there's no knowing what may happen."
And the office-boy was dispatched with a check for the amount.
"Let us see what other resources. There are Monroe's notes,—ten thousand dollars. I can raise something on them. I'll borrow from Tonsor, who seems to have funds enough."
He sent a clerk and succeeded in obtaining eight thousand dollars for five days, by depositing the notes.
"If worst comes to worst, I have nine thousand to fall back upon. Now, what next? Fletcher's note for five hundred, with the rather peculiar admission at the beginning. I wonder, now, what he would give for this little paper? Possibly he is in funds. He's a scheming devil and hasn't been idle in this gale of wind. I'll send for him."