“These men shall have their money,” said the Admiral.
“Dad!”
“Yes, my boy, you don’t know the resources of the family. One never does know until one tries. What have you yourself now?”
“I have about a thousand pounds invested.”
“All right. And I have about as much more. There’s a good start. Now, mother, it is your turn. What is that little bit of paper of yours?”
Mrs. Denver unfolded it, and placed it upon Harold’s knee.
“Five thousand pounds!” he gasped.
“Ah, but mother is not the only rich one. Look at this!” And the Admiral unfolded his cheque, and placed it upon the other knee.
Harold gazed from one to the other in bewilderment. “Ten thousand pounds!” he cried. “Good heavens! where did these come from?”
“You will not worry any longer, dear,” murmured his mother, slipping her arm round him.
But his quick eye had caught the signature upon one of the cheques. “Doctor Walker!” he cried, flushing. “This is Clara’s doing. Oh, dad, we cannot take this money. It would not be right nor honorable.”
“No, boy, I am glad you think so. It is something, however, to have proved one’s friend, for a real good friend he is. It was he who brought it in, though Clara sent him. But this other money will be enough to cover everything, and it is all my own.”
“Your own? Where did you get it, dad?”
“Tut, tut! See what it is to have a City man to deal with. It is my own, and fairly earned, and that is enough.”
“Dear old dad!” Harold squeezed his gnarled hand. “And you, mother! You have lifted the trouble from my heart. I feel another man. You have saved my honor, my good name, everything. I cannot owe you more, for I owe you everything already.”
So while the autumn sunset shone ruddily through the broad window these three sat together hand in hand, with hearts which were too full to speak. Suddenly the soft thudding of tennis balls was heard, and Mrs. Westmacott bounded into view upon the lawn with brandished racket and short skirts fluttering in the breeze. The sight came as a relief to their strained nerves, and they burst all three into a hearty fit of laughter.
“She is playing with her nephew,” said Harold at last. “The Walkers have not come out yet. I think that it would be well if you were to give me that cheque, mother, and I were to return it in person.”
“Certainly, Harold. I think it would be very nice.
He went in through the garden. Clara and the Doctor were sitting together in the dining-room. She sprang to her feet at the sight of him.
“Oh, Harold, I have been waiting for you so impatiently,” she cried; “I saw you pass the front windows half an hour ago. I would have come in if I dared. Do tell us what has happened.”
“I have come in to thank you both. How can I repay you for your kindness? Here is your cheque, Doctor. I have not needed it. I find that I can lay my hands on enough to pay my creditors.”
“Thank God!” said Clara fervently.
“The sum is less than I thought, and our resources considerably more. We have been able to do it with ease.”
“With ease!” The Doctor’s brow clouded and his manner grew cold. “I think, Harold, that you would do better to take this money of mine, than to use that which seems to you to be gained with ease.”
“Thank you, sir. If I borrowed from any one it would be from you. But my father has this very sum, five thousand pounds, and, as I tell him, I owe him so much that I have no compunction about owing him more.”
“No compunction! Surely there are some sacrifices which a son should not allow his parents to make.”
“Sacrifices! What do you mean?”
“Is it possible that you do not know how this money has been obtained?”
“I give you my word, Doctor Walker, that I have no idea. I asked my father, but he refused to tell me.”
“I thought not,” said the Doctor, the gloom clearing from his brow. “I was sure that you were not a man who, to clear yourself from a little money difficulty, would sacrifice the happiness of your mother and the health of your father.”