Bob hesitated for a moment. Imogene had gone to the other note counter, and was trying idly not to be aware of the conversation. It would be utterly too cruel to disappoint her now. It went against the grain, but Rogeen swallowed his resentment and distaste.
"All right," he nodded brightly. "I've got one loan already for you." He drew the papers from his pocket. "It is six cents on 150 bales of cotton now in the yards. Here are the compress receipts."
"Whom is this for?" Her eyes looked at him challengingly; her lips shaped the words accusingly.
"To Miss Chandler and her father." Bob felt himself idiotically blushing.
Mrs. Barnett's face took on the frozen look of a thousand generations of damning disapprobation.
"No! Not one cent to that woman. Uncle and I don't care to encourage that sort."
For a moment Bob stood looking straight into the frigid face of Mrs. Barnett. It was the first time in his life he would have willingly sacrificed his personal pride for money. He would have done almost anything to get that money for Imogene Chandler. But it was useless to try to persuade the widow that she was wrong. Back of her own narrowness was Reedy Jenkins. This was Reedy's move; he was using the widow's vanity and personal greed for his own ends; and his ends were the destruction of Rogeen and the capitulation of Miss Chandler.
Mrs. Barnett's eyes met his defiantly, but her mouth quivered a little nervously. A doubt flashed through his mind. Was she authorized to do this? Surely she would not dare take such authority without her uncle's consent. He might telephone, anyway, then a more direct resolution followed swiftly. He turned away from Mrs. Barnett and went to the cashier's window.
"Did Jim Crill deposit $25,000 here subject to my check?" he asked.
"He did," replied the cashier.