Ovington held his glass before him by the stem and looked thoughtfully at it. “That reminds me,” he said, “Rodd had some money with us—three hundred on deposit, I think. He had better have it. It will make no difference one way or the other, and he cannot afford to lose it.” Arthur looked doubtful. “Three hundred,” he said, “might make the difference.” “Well, it might, of course,” the banker admitted wearily. “But he had better have it. I should not like him to suffer.” “No,” Clement said. “He must have it. Shall I see to it now? The sooner the better.” No one demurred, and he left the room. When he had gone Arthur rose and walked to the window. He looked out. Presently he turned. “As to that twelve thousand?” he said. “That you said would pull us through? Is there no way of getting it? Can’t you think of any way, sir?” “I am afraid not,” Ovington answered, shaking his head. “I see no way. I’ve strained our resources, I’ve tried every way. I see no way unless——” “Yes, sir? Unless?” “Unless—and I am afraid that there is no chance of that—your uncle could be induced to come forward and support us—in your interest.” Arthur laughed aloud, but there was no mirth in the sound. “If that is your hope, if you have any idea of that kind, sir,” he said, “I am afraid you don’t know him yet. I know nothing less likely.” “I am afraid that you are right. Still, your future is at stake. I am sorry that it is so, lad, but there it is. And if it could be made clear to him that he ran no risk?” “But could it? Could it?” “He would run no risk.” “But could he be brought to see that?” Arthur spoke sharply, almost with contempt. “Of course he could not! If you knew what his attitude is towards banks generally, and bankers, you would see the absurdity of it! He hates the very name of Ovington’s.” The other yielded. “Just so,” he said. Even to him the idea was unpalatable. “It was only a forlorn hope, a wild idea, lad, and I’ll say no more about it. It comes to this, that we must depend on ourselves, show a brave face, and hope for the best.” But Arthur, though he had scoffed at the suggestion which Ovington had made, could not refrain from turning it over in his mind. He had courage enough for anything, and it was not the lack of that which hindered him from entertaining the project. The storm which was gathering ahead, and which threatened the shipwreck of his cherished ambition and his dearest hopes, was terrible to him, and to escape from its fury he would have faced any man, had that been all. But that was not all. He had other interests. If he applied to the Squire and the Squire took it amiss, as it was pretty certain that he would, then not only would no good be done and no point be gained, but the life-boat, on which he might himself escape, if things came to the worst, would be shipwrecked also.