Part 13 (2/2)
”I--we would like to arrange for a loan, Mr. Pantin.”
”To what amount, Mrs. Toomey?”
Mrs. Toomey considered.
”As much as you could conveniently spare.”
The smile which Mr. Pantin endeavored to conceal was genuine.
”For what length of time?”
Mrs. Toomey had not thought of that.
”I could not say exactly--not off-hand like this--but I presume only until my husband gets into something.”
”Has he--er--anything definite in view?”
”I wouldn't say definite, not definite, but he has several irons in the fire and we expect to hear soon.”
”I see.” Mr. Pantin's manner was urbane but, observing him closely, Mrs.
Toomey noted that his eyes suddenly presented the curious illusion of two slate-gray pools covered with skim ice. It was not an encouraging sign and her heart sank in spite of the superlative suavity of the tone in which he inquired:
”What security would you be able to give, Mrs. Toomey?”
Security? Between friends? She had not expected this.
”I--I'm afraid I--we haven't any, Mr. Pantin. You know we lost everything when we lost the ranch. But you're perfectly safe--you needn't have a moment's anxiety about that.”
Immediately it seemed as though invisible hands shot out to push her away, yet Mr. Pantin's tone was bland as he replied:
”I should be delighted to be able to accommodate you, but just at the present time--”
”You can't? Oh, I wish you would reconsider--as a matter of friends.h.i.+p.
We need it--desperately, Mr. Pantin!” Her voice shook.
Again she had the sensation of invisible hands fighting her off.
”I regret very much--”
The hopelessness of any further plea swept over her. She arose with a gesture of despair, and Mr. Pantin, smiling, suave, urbane, bowed her out and closed the door. He watched her go down the walk and through the gate, noting her momentary hesitation and wondering where she might be going in such a wind. When she started in the opposite direction from home and walked rapidly down the road that led out of town it flashed through his mind that she might be bent on suicide--she had looked desperate, no mistake, but, since there was no water in which to drown herself, and no tree from which to hang herself, and the country was so flat that there was nothing high enough for her to jump off of and break her neck, he concluded there was no real cause for uneasiness.
It was Mr. Pantin's proud boast that he never yet had ”held the sack,”
and now he thought complacently as he turned from the window, grabbed the shovel and whisk and leaped for an ash that had dropped, that this was an instance where he had again shown excellent judgment in not allowing his warm heart and impulses to control his head.
CHAPTER VII
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