"Only a small farm out near Anchordale, which belonged to my precious wife's father. It is quite as worthless as he was, poor dear! I have offered it repeatedly in payment, but they refused to consider it." "Is there a house on it?" persisted Quin. "Yes--an uninhabitable old stone structure that has stood there for nearly a century. For years I have tried in vain to rent or sell it. I have left no stone unturned, Quinby. I know I am regarded as a visionary, a dreamer, but I assure you----" "What about the ground?" "Very hilly and woody. Absolutely good for nothing but a stock farm. Utterly incapable of cultivation. It's no use considering it, my dear boy. I have viewed the matter from every conceivable angle. There is no reprisal. I am doomed. This beloved house will be sold, my family scattered. I an old man, a penniless outcast----" "No, no, Papa Claude!" protested Eleanor. "You _sha'n't_ be turned out. We must borrow the money. It's only a little over a year until I'm of age, and then I can pay it all back. Surely we can find somebody to help us out!" "Ah, my darling, your trust is born of inexperience. People do not lend money without security. There is absolutely no one to whom I can appeal." Eleanor, sitting on the arm of his chair, suddenly started up. "I have it!" she cried. "I know who will help us! Captain Phipps! He knows better than any one else what it means to you to have this next year free to finish the play. He will be _glad_ to do it; I know he will." Mr. Martel looked slightly embarrassed. "As a matter of fact, he has been approached on the subject," he said. "He was most sympathetic and kind, but unfortunately his money is all invested at present." "Fiddlesticks!" cried Eleanor in a tone so suggestive of her paternal grandmother that Quin smiled. "What difference does it make if it _is_ invested? Let him un-invest it. I am sure I could get him to lend it to _me_, only I would hate awfully to ask him." Mr. Martel's roving eyes came back to hers hopefully. "I wonder if you could?" he said, grasping at the proffered straw. "Perhaps if he understood that _your_ career was at stake, that my disappointment would mean _your_ disappointment, he would make some special effort to assist us. Will you go to him, child? Will you plead our cause for us?" Eleanor hesitated but a moment; then she set her lips firmly. "Yes," she said, with a little catch in her voice; "I will. I'll go to him in the morning." Quin, who had been staring out of the window, deep in thought, turned abruptly to Mr. Martel. "When do you have to have the money?" he asked. "By next Wednesday, the first--no, the second of April. The date is burned in my memory." "You see, there's no time to lose," said Eleanor. "I'd rather die than do it, but I'll ask Harold Phipps to-morrow morning." "No, you won't," said Quin peremptorily; "I am going to get the money myself." "But he wouldn't lend it to _you_. You don't understand!"