“But it is my money!” she cried, stiffening.

“You paid that for the stock.”

She shook her head helplessly.

“I don’t understand these things,” she murmured.  “If Jim had been alive it wouldn’t have happened.  He was so careful.”

“Husbands have some uses occasionally.”

Suddenly she put her hands to her face.

“Oh, Mr. Tutt!  Please get the money back from him.  If you don’t something terrible will happen to Jessie!”

“I’ll do my best,” he said gently, laying his hand on her fragile shoulder.  “But I may not be able to do it—­and anyhow I’ll need your help.”

“What can I do?”

“I want you to go down to Mr. Badger’s office to-morrow morning and tell him that you are so much pleased with your investment that you would like to turn all your securities over to him to sell and put the money into the Great Geyser Texan Petroleum and Llano Estacado Land Company.”

He rolled out the words with unction.

“But I don’t!”

“Oh, yes, you do!” he assured her.  “You want to do just what I tell you, don’t you?”

“Of course,” she answered.  “But I thought you didn’t like Mr. Badger’s oil company.”

“Whether I like it or not makes no difference.  I want you to say just what I tell you.”

“Oh, very well, Mr. Tutt.”

“Then you must tell him about the note, and that first it will have to be paid off.”

“Yes.”

“And then you must hand him a letter which I will dictate to you now.”

She flushed slightly, her eyes bright with excitement.

“You’re sure it’s perfectly honest, Mr. Tutt?  I wouldn’t want to do anything unfair!”

“Would you be honest with a burglar?”

“But Mr. Badger isn’t a burglar!”

“No—­he’s only about a thousand times worse.  He’s a robber of widows and orphans.  He isn’t man enough to take a chance at housebreaking.”

“I don’t know what you mean,” she sighed.  “Where shall I write?”

Mr. Tutt cleared a space upon his desk, handed her a pad and dipped a pen in the ink while she took off her gloves.

“Address the note to the bank,” he directed.

She did so.

“Now say:  ’Kindly deliver to Mr. Badger all the securities I have on deposit with you, whenever he pays my note.  Very truly yours, Sarah Maria Ann Effingham.’”

“But I don’t want him to have my securities!” she retorted.

“Oh, you won’t mind!  You’ll be lucky to get Mr. Badger to take back your oil stock on any terms.  Leave the certificate with me,” laughed Mr. Tutt, rubbing his long thin hands together almost gleefully.  “And now as it is getting rather late perhaps you will do me the honor of letting me escort you home.”

It was midnight before Mr. Tutt went to bed.  In the first place he had felt himself so neglectful of Mrs. Effingham that after he had taken her home he had sat there a long time talking over the old lady’s affairs and making the acquaintance of the phthisical Jessie, who turned out to be a wistful little creature with great liquid eyes and a delicate transparent skin that foretold only too clearly what was to be her future.  There was only one place for her, Mr. Tutt told himself—­Arizona; and by the grace of God she should go there, Badger or no Badger!