“Your friend,
    “JOTHAM ANDERSON.”

Harry’s face flushed eagerly as he read this letter, Nothing would suit him better than to make this arrangement, if only he could provide the purchase money.  But this was likely to present a difficulty.

CHAPTER XXXIV.

A FRIEND IN NEED.

Harry at once showed Ferguson the letter he had received.

“What are you going to do about it?” asked his friend.

“I should like to buy the paper, but I don’t see how I can.  Mr.
Anderson wants two thousand dollars cash.”

“How much have you got?”

“Only five hundred.”

“I have seven hundred and fifty,” said Ferguson, thoughtfully.

Harry’s face brightened.

“Why can’t we go into partnership?” he asked.

“That is what we spoke of once,” said Ferguson, “and it would suit me perfectly; but there is a difficulty.  Your money and mine added together will not be enough.”

“Perhaps Mr. Anderson would take a mortgage on the establishment for the balance.”

“I don’t think so.  He says expressly that he wants cash.”

Harry looked disturbed.

“Do you think any one would lend us the money on the same terms?” he asked, after a while.

“Squire Trevor is the only man in the village likely to have money to lend.  There he is in the street now.  Run down, Harry, and ask him to step in a minute.”

Our hero seized his hat, and did as requested.  He returned immediately, followed by Squire Trevor, a stout, puffy little man, reputed shrewd and a capitalist.

“Excuse our calling you in, Squire Trevor,” said Ferguson, “but we want to consult you on a matter of business.  Harry, just show the squire Mr. Anderson’s letter.”

The squire read it deliberately.

“Do you want my advice?” he said, looking up from the perusal.  “Buy the paper.  It is worth what Anderson asks for it.”

“So I think, but there is a difficulty.  Harry and I can only raise twelve hundred dollars or so between us.”

“Give a note for the balance.  You’ll be able to pay it off in two years, if you prosper.”

“I am afraid that won’t do.  Mr. Anderson wants cash.  Can’t you lend us the money, Squire Trevor?” continued Ferguson, bluntly.

The village capitalist shook his head.

“If you had asked me last week I could have obliged you,” he said; “but I was in Boston day before yesterday, and bought some railway stock which is likely to enhance in value.  That leaves me short.”

“Then you couldn’t manage it?” said Ferguson, soberly.

“Not at present,” said the squire, decidedly.

“Then we must write to Mr. Anderson, offering what we have, and a mortgage to secure the rest.”

“That will be your best course.”

“He may agree to our terms,” said Harry, hopefully, after their visitor had left the office.