of business, and for the moment he could only struggle hardily for standing room in it. He had always known, in a general way, that his book-loving father was no money-getter in any modern sense of the term, but there had always been enough and something to spare for him and for the blind sister whose birth had cost the mother’s life. With the healthy ambition of the average boy and youth, he had looked forward to a time when he should go to work for himself in some chosen field and manfully build up the slender fortunes of the family. But now the world of youthful anticipation had gone suddenly and hopelessly awry. [14] “We can’t think of giving up, Dad!” he broke out, after he had tramped his way through to some measure of decision. “There must be something that we can turn into money and save the bank and your good name. Can’t you find somebody who will carry you until we can make the turn?” Adam Vallory shook his head in patient despair. “That ground has all been plowed long ago, son. It is now six months or more since I began[15] borrowing on my private resources, such as they are. There is nothing left; not even the house we live in. I suppose I should have told you sooner, but that was another weakness. I wished you to have a chance to finish your college course and get your start in the world without distractions, and that much, at least, has been accomplished.” [15] Once more the younger man sought to stem the torrent of the incredible reversals, and this time he was partly successful. “We can still hope that it isn’t altogether as bad as you think it is, Dad,” he said, with greater optimism than his inner conviction warranted. “In a few minutes I’m going to pull off my coat and have a look at things from the inside. We’re not going down without a fight; that’s settled. Aside from this prison scare—and it’s only a scare, you know—no Middleboro jury would ever believe for a single moment that you meant to do a criminal act—aside from that, there are two mighty good reasons why we mustn’t go to the dogs.” “Lucille?” queried the father. “Yes; she is one of the reasons, and a pretty stout one. Life is always going to be hard enough for the little sister, without adding poverty and a sorrow that she can neither help nor hinder.” [16]“Quite true; and the other reason?”
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