"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."