He threw himself into a chair, his mind absorbed in the effort to find some way out of the difficulty. The state of his own bank account precluded all relief in that direction. To borrow a dollar from the Patapsco on any note of hand he could offer was out of the question, the money stringency having become still more acute. Yet help must be had, and at once. Again he unfolded the slip and ran his eyes over the items, his mind in deep thought, then he added in an anxious tone: “Are you aware, Harry, that this list amounts to several thousand dollars?” “Yes--I saw it did. I had no idea it was so much. I never thought anything about it in fact. My father always paid--paid for anything I wanted.” Neither did the young fellow ever concern himself about the supply of water in the old well at Moorlands. His experience had been altogether with the bucket and the gourd: all he had had to do was to dip in. Again St. George ruminated. It had been many years since he had been so disturbed about any matter involving money. “And have you any money left, Harry?” “Not much. What I have is in my drawer upstairs.” “Then I'll lend you the money.” This came with a certain spontaneity--quite as if he had said to a companion who had lost his umbrella--“Take mine!” “But have you got it, Uncle George?” asked Harry in an anxious tone. “No--not that I know of,” he replied simply, but with no weakening of his determination to see the boy through, no matter at what cost. “Well--then--how will you lend it?” laughed Harry. Money crises had not formed part of his troubles. “Egad, my boy, I don't know!--but somehow.” He rang the bell and Todd put in his head. “Todd, go around outside,--see if young Mr. Pawson is in his office below us, present my compliments and say that it will give me great pleasure to call upon him regarding a matter of business.” “Yes, sah--” “--And, Todd--say also that if agreeable to him, I will be there in ten minutes.” Punctually at ten o'clock on the following morning the shrivelled body and anxious face of the agent was ushered by Todd into St. George's presence--Dandy close behind sniffing at his thin knees, convinced that he was a suspicious person. This hour had been fixed by Temple in case he was not sent for earlier, and as no messenger had so far reached the bill collector he was naturally in doubt as to the nature of his reception. He had the same hat in his hand and the same handkerchief--a weekly, or probably a monthly comfort--its dingy red color defrauding the laundry. “I have waited, sir,” Gadgem began in an unctuous tone, his eyes on the dog, who had now resumed his place on the hearth rug--“waited IMpatiently, relying upon the word and honor of--”