Part 40 (1/2)

”On notes that will mature when he's twenty-one. I found the man who cashed them, but he parted with the paper, and I canno' tell who holds it now.”

”I've no doubt you tried to find out.”

Mackellar's eyes twinkled.

”Ye may take that for granted. If there had been a weak spot in the man's affairs, I'd have made him tell.”

There was silence for a minute. Andrew suspected that it was Staffer; but he did not think it was time to speak, and he knew that Mackellar would take him into his confidence when he saw fit.

”The fellow who really made the loan has some courage,” he said presently.

”I'm thinking he kens the Johnstone character. d.i.c.k would no' disown his debts on the ground that he was under age; nor would ye, if your cousin died before he inherited.”

”No,” said Andrew. ”d.i.c.k's debts must be met; but I would pay what he borrowed with reasonable interest, and nothing more.”

”Ye're a true Johnstone,” Mackellar remarked, with dry approval. ”My opinion is that the lender's no' expecting ye to inherit.”

”Well, it's most unlikely, and I'm glad it is so. I suppose you have nothing more to say, but you'll tell me when I can help.”

”I will,” Mackellar promised.

Andrew did not feel inclined to join the others. He strolled into the hall, and found Elsie sitting in a corner with her knitting.

”I stole away to finish this belt,” she said. ”It's the last of a dozen I promised to let the committee have to-morrow.”

”You keep your promises,” Andrew replied. ”It must be a comfort to feel you're useful, because somebody in the snow and mud will be glad of that warm belt. I begin to wish I'd been taught to knit.”

Elsie gave him a sympathetic glance, for there was a hint of bitterness in his tone.

”What is troubling you to-night, Andrew?” she asked gently.

”It is rather hard to explain; a general sense of futility, I think,”

he answered with a smile. ”Did you ever feel that you had come up against a dead wall that you could neither break through nor get over?”

”Yes; I know the feeling well. There is so much that ought to be done and it seems impossible. But what did you want to do?”

Andrew stood beside the hearth, silently watching her for a minute.

Her face was quiet but faintly troubled, and although she was looking at the fire and not her knitting, the needles flashed steadily through the wool. Elsie had beautiful hands, but they were capable and strong, and it was not often that she allowed her feelings to interfere with her work.

”To tell what you meant to do and couldn't sounds pretty weak, but I had two objects when I came home,” he said. ”I wanted to help d.i.c.k and keep him out of trouble; but the proper kind of help needs tact, and I haven't much. Besides, there's something peculiarly elusive about d.i.c.k; you think you have him, so to speak, in a corner, and the next moment he slips away from you. Sometimes I suspect he's a good deal more clever than we imagine.”

Elsie nodded.

”Yes; I know what you mean. But you're a very good friend of his and it wouldn't be like you to give him up.”

”I don't mean to give him up; but just now it looks as if I could get no farther. That's the trouble.”

”You mean part of it,” said Elsie quietly. ”What was your other object?”