"Forty-nine thousand, seven hundred and forty-two dollars and twelve cents," responded Taylor; "in three notes, due in twelve, twenty-four, and thirty-six months, interest at eight per cent, held by—"
The Colonel snorted his amazement, and Harry Cresswell cut in:
"Yes," he calmly admitted; "and with good crops for three years we'd be all right; good crops even for two years would leave us fairly well off."
"You mean it would relieve you of the present stringency and put you face to face with the falling price of cotton and rising wages," was John Taylor's dry addendum.
"Rising price of cotton, you mean," Harry corrected.
"Oh, temporarily," John Taylor admitted.
"Precisely, and thus postpone the decision."
"No, Mr. Cresswell. I'm offering to let you in on the ground floor—now—not next year, or year after."
"Mr. Taylor, have you any money in this?"
"Everything I've got."