"Why, Ma says Andy’s letter was to tell you he’s made a fortune." Sam groaned. "Well, hasn’t he?" "No." "What was his letter about, then? He ain’t after money, to borrow it off’n you, is he?" Sam shook his head. "Because, if Andy wants to try any of his get-rich-quick games on us, he better guess again. He’s got to take his chances with all the other fancy dancers, that’s all there is to it. It’s a poor pie won’t grease its own tin." "He don’t want to borrow, Martha. He——" "Well——?" Sam swallowed hard, laid _The New England Farmer_ on the table, and drew himself in his chair a step nearer his wife. "When I was down in New York, Andy was fairly beset with the idea of going into a scheme with a man he knew, who’d offered him a chance, if he could raise the cash, or as-good-as. Andy could talk of nothing else. The same with Nora-Andy. They told me all about it, and I’m bound to say it did sound good to me. But I’d no money to give or lend, and I told them so. Ma’d been blabbing about our having a bit saved, and Nora-Andy reproached me with withholding it from my own brother, when it was only a loan he needed, with good interest for the one loaned it, to take the chance of a lifetime. I told them the money wasn’t mine, but yours and the children’s. You’d saved it, not I. And then Andy said, he’d never lay hand on it, if it was the last penny he’d ever hope to see. ’Twas not money he wanted of me at all, and he brought out a paper, that, if I would set my name to it, would help him out, as fine as money, and nobody hurt by the transaction a hair." Martha dropped her sewing to her lap. "You never signed it, Sam?" she entreated. "Of course, you never signed it. You know better’n me that it’s wrong to set your name to any tool—(ol’ lady Crewe’s l’yer’s very words)—wrong to set your name to any tool——" "Instrument," suggested Sam drearily. "Well, instrument, then. It’s wrong to set your name to any instrument unless you know what you’re up against." "I know it," confessed Sam humbly. "Well?" Martha plied him. "I did it, mother. And now, the note’s come due, and Andy can’t meet it, and——" "Well, what do you think o’ that!" sighed Martha. Sam had been leaning forward on his elbows, his palms propping his chin. Now his face dropped into his hands, as he hid his haggard eyes from her clear, searching ones. "How much, Sam?" "All we got. The whole two-hundred-and-fifty."