"He was rough and unpleasant. He said he mast have his money promptly or we must vacate the rooms." "Did he take the seven dollars?" "Yes, he took it and gave me a receipt on account. He said he must have the balance to-morrow." "I don't see how we can pay it. The company owes me more, but I shan't get paid till Saturday night." "Don't they advance it to you?" "It is against the rule. Besides I couldn't get it in time." "There is a lady in Lexington Avenue owing me four dollars for sewing, but when I went there today I heard that she was out of town." "It is very provoking to be kept out of your money when you need it so much. If we only had a little money ahead, we could get along well. Something must be done, but I don't know what." "You might go round to Cousin Ferguson." "I hate to ask a favor of that man, mother." "You remember that your poor father owned a small tract of land in Colorado. When Robert Ferguson went out three months since I asked him to look after it, and ascertain whether it was of any value. As I have heard nothing from him, I am afraid it is worthless." "I will go and ask him, mother. That is a matter of business, and I don't mind speaking to him on that subject. I will go at once." "Perhaps he may be willing to advance a few dollars on it." "At any rate I will go." Robert Ferguson lived in a plain brick house on East Thirty-Ninth Street. He was a down-town merchant, and in possession of a snug competence. Mrs. Fenton was his own cousin, but he had never offered to help her in any way, though he was quite aware of the fact that she was struggling hard to support her little family. He had a son Raymond who was by no means as plain in his tastes as his father, but had developed a tendency to extravagance which augured ill for his future. He had never cared to cultivate the acquaintance of his poor cousins, and whenever he met Fred treated him with ill-concealed contempt. It so happened that he was just leaving the house as Fred ascended the steps. "Good morning, Raymond," said Fred politely. "Oh, it's you, is it?" "Yes," answered Fred briefly, for he did not like the style in which his cousin addressed him. "What do you want round here?" "I want to see your father." "I guess he's busy." "I want to see him on business," said Fred, pulling the bell. "If you want to borrow any money it's no use. I struck him for ten dollars just now, and he only gave me two." "Did I say I wanted to borrow any money?" "No, you didn't say so, but I couldn't think of any other business you could have." Fred did not have occasion to answer, for here the door opened, and the servant stood on the threshold. "Is Mr. Ferguson at home?" he asked. "Yes; will you come in?" Fred followed the girl into the back parlor where Robert Ferguson sat reading the evening paper. He looked up as Fred entered. "Good evening, Mr. Ferguson," he said. "Good evening, Frederick," said his relative coldly.