“Not if the squire backs him as he does; he threatens to foreclose the mortgage if I don’t sell.”

Ben comprehended the situation now, and appreciated its gravity.

“What does he offer, Mother?”

“A thousand dollars only—­perhaps a little more.”

“Why that would be downright robbery.”

“Not in the eye of the law.  Ben, we are in the power of Squire Davenport, and he is a hard man.”

“I would like to give him a piece of my mind, mother.  He might be in better business than robbing you of your house.”

“Do nothing hastily, Ben.  There is only one thing that we can do to save the house, and that is, to induce someone to advance the money necessary to take up the mortgage.”

“Can you think of anybody who would do it?”

Mrs. Barclay shook her head.

“There is no one in Pentonville who would be willing, and has the money,” she said.  “I have a rich cousin in New York, but I have not met him since I was married; he thought a great deal of me once, but I suppose he scarcely remembers me now.  He lived, when I last heard of him, on Lexington Avenue, and his name is Absalom Peters.”

“And he is rich?”

“Yes, very rich, I believe.”

“I have a great mind to ask for a day’s vacation from Mr. Crawford, and go to New York to see him.”

“I am afraid it would do no good.”

“It would do no harm, except that it would cost something for traveling expenses.  But I would go as economically as possible.  Have I your permission, mother?”

“You can do as you like, Ben; I won’t forbid you, though I have little hope of its doing any good.”

“Then I will try and get away Monday.  To-morrow is Saturday, and I can’t be spared at the store; there is always more doing, you know, on Saturday than any other day.”

“I don’t feel like giving any advice, Ben.  Do as you please.”

The next day, on his way home to dinner, Ben met his young rival of the evening previous, Tom Davenport.

“How are you, Tom?” said Ben, nodding.

“I want to speak to you, Ben Barclay,” said the young aristocrat, pausing in his walk.

“Go ahead!  I’m listening,” said Ben.

Tom was rather annoyed at the want of respect which, in his opinion, Ben showed him, but hardly knew how to express his objections, so he came at once to the business in hand.

“You’d better not hang around Rose Gardiner so much,” he said superciliously.

“What do you mean by that?” demanded Ben quickly.

“You forced your attentions on her last evening at the Town Hall.”

“Who told you so?”

“I saw it for myself.”

“I thought Rose didn’t tell you so.”

“It must be disagreeable to her family to have a common grocer’s boy seen with her.”

“It seems to me you take a great deal of interest in the matter, Tom Davenport.  You talk as if you were the guardian of the young lady.  I believe you wanted to go home with her yourself.”