"I d'know. My stomach is kind of upset by this failure o' mine. I'm in
great shape to go down to the bank this morning--and face them fellows--"
"It's got to be done."
"I know it; but that don't help me any." He tried to smile.
She mused, while the baby hammered on his tin plate.
"You've got to go down. If you don't--I will," said she, resolutely. "And
you must say that that money will be paid back--every cent."
"But that's more'n I can do--"
"It must be done."
"But under the law--"
"There's nothing can make this thing right except paying every cent we
owe. I ain't a-goin' to have it said that my children--that I'm livin'
on somebody else. If you don't pay these debts, I will. I've thought it
all out. If you don't stay and face it, and pay these men, I won't own
you as my husband. I loved and trusted you, Jim--I thought you was
honorable--it's been a terrible blow--but I've decided it all in my mind."
She conquered her little weakness, and went on to the end firmly. Her
face looked pale. There was a square look about the mouth and chin. The
iron resolution and Puritanic strength of her father, old John Foreman,
had come to the surface. Her look and tone mastered the man, for he loved
her deeply.
She had set him a hard task, and when he rose and went down the street he
walked with bent head, quite unlike his usual self.
There were not many men on the street. It seemed earlier than it was, for
it was a raw, cold morning, promising snow. The sun was completely masked
in a seamless dust-gray cloud. He met Vance with a brown parcel
(beefsteak for breakfast) under his arm.
"Hello, Jim! How are ye, so early in the morning?"
"Blessed near used up."
"That so? What's the matter?"
"I d'know," said Jim, listlessly. "Bilious, I guess. Headache--stomach
bad."
"Oh! Well, now, you try them pills I was tellin' you of."
Arrived at the bank, he let himself in, and locked the door behind him.
He stood in the middle of the floor a few minutes, then went behind the
railing and sat down. He didn't build a fire, though it was cold and
damp, and he shivered as he sat leaning on the desk. At length he drew a
large sheet of paper toward him and wrote something on it in a heavy
hand.
He was writing on this when Lincoln entered at the back, whistling
boyishly. "Hello, Jim! Ain't you up early? No fire, eh?" He rattled at
the stove.
Sanford said nothing, but finished his writing. Then he said, quietly,
"You needn't build a fire on my account, Link."
"Why not?"
"Well, I'm used up."
"What's the matter?"
"I'm sick, and the business has gone to the devil." He looked out of the
window.
Link dropped the poker, and came around behind the counter, and stared at
Sanford with fallen mouth.
"Wha'd you say?"
"I said the business had gone to the devil. We're
broke--bu'sted--petered--gone up the spout." He took a sort of morbid
pleasure in saying these things.
"What's bu'sted us? Have--"
"I've been speculatin' in copper. My partner's bu'sted me."
Link came closer. His mouth stiffened and an ominous look came into his
eyes. "You don't mean to say you've lost my money, and mother's, and
Uncle Andrew's, and all the rest?"
Sanford was getting irritated. "------it! What's the use? I tell you,
yes! It's all gone--every cent of it."
Link caught him by the shoulder as he sat at the desk. Sanford's tone
enraged him. "You thief! But you'll pay me back, or I'll--"
"Oh, go ahead! Pound a sick man, if it 'll do you any good," said
Sanford, with a peculiar recklessness of lifeless misery. "Pay y'rself
out of the safe. Here's the combination."
Lincoln released him, and began turning the knob of the door. At last it
swung open, and he searched the money-drawers. Less than forty dollars,
all told. His voice was full of helpless rage as he turned at last and
walked up close to Sanford's bowed head.
"I'd like to pound the life out o' you!"
"You're at liberty to do so, if it 'll be any satisfaction."
This desperate courage awed the younger man. He gazed at Sanford in
amazement.
"If you'll cool down and wait a little, Link, I'll tell you all about it.
I'm sick as a horse. I guess I'll go home. You can put this up in the
window, and go home, too, if you want to."
Lincoln saw that Sanford was sick. He was shivering, and drops of sweat
were on his white forehead. Lincoln stood aside silently, and let him go
out.
"Better lock up, Link. You can't do anything by staying here."
Lincoln took refuge in a boyish phrase that would have made any one but a
sick man laugh: "Well, this is a------of a note!"
He took up the paper. It read: