"Why does any one forge? He needs money. When Billy caught him the old fellow went all to pieces and told a pretty tough story. You see, he'd been Burgeman's secretary for almost twenty years, given him the best years of his life--slaved for him--lied for him--made money for him. Billy said his father regarded him as an excellent piece of office machinery, and treated him as if he were nothing more. The poor chap had always had hard luck; a delicate wife, three or four children who were eternally having or needing something, and poor relations demanding help he couldn't refuse. Between doctors' bills and clothing--and the relatives--he had no chance to save. At last he broke down, and the doctor told him it was an outdoor life, with absolute freedom from the strain of serving a man like Burgeman--or the undertaker for him. So he went to Burgeman, asked him to loan him the money to invest in a fruit-farm, and let him pay it off as fast as he could." "Well?" Patsy was interested at last. "Well, the old man turned him down--shouted his 'no sentiment' slogan at him, and shrugged his shoulders at what the doctor said. He told him, flat, that a man who hadn't saved a cent in twenty years couldn't in twenty years more; and he only put money into investments that paid. The poor chap went away, frantic, worked himself into thinking he was entitled to that last chance; and when Billy heard the story he thought so, too. In the end, Billy cashed the check, gave the secretary the money, and they both cleared out. He knew, if his father ever suspected the truth, he would have the poor chap followed and dragged back to pay the full penalty of the law--he and all his family with him." Patsy smiled whimsically. "It sounds so simple and believable when you have it explained; but it would have been rather nice, now, if Billy Burgeman could have known that one person believed in him from the beginning without an explanation." "Who did?" "Faith! how should I know? I was supposing, just." But as Patsy climbed onto the train she muttered under her breath: "We come out even, I'm thinking. If he's missed knowing that, I've missed knowing a fine lad." XVI THE ROAD BEGINS ALL OVER AGAIN On the second day following Patsy played Juliet at Brambleside, and more than satisfied George Travis. While his mind was racing ahead, planning her particular stardom on Broadway, and her mind was pestering her with its fears and uncertainties into a state of "private prostration," the manager of the Brambleside Inn was telephoning the Green County sheriff to come at once--he had found the girl. So it came about at the final dropping of the curtain, as Patsy was climbing down from her bier, that four eagerly determined men confronted her, each plainly wishful to be the first to gain her attention. "Well," said the tinker, pointedly, "are you ready?" "It's all settled." Travis was jubilant. "You'll play Broadway for six months next winter--or I'm no manager."