Zoeth put in a word.

“He says he’ll pay pretty soon,” he observed plaintively.  “He’s been sayin’ it for over a year, though.”

“Humph!” grunted Shadrach.  “There’s only a difference of one letter between ‘sayin’’ and ‘payin’,’ but there ain’t but two between ‘trust’ and ‘bust.’”

Mary spoke.  “Never mind,” she said.  “I shall see Mr. Clifford myself.  And I shall see some of these others, too.  Now about our own bills—­those we owe.  I have a list of the principal creditors.  Mr. Green’s firm is one of them; we owe them most of all, it seems.  I think I shall go and see Mr. Green myself.”

“For the land sakes, what for?” demanded Shadrach.  “He knows how we’re fixed, Zoeth wrote him.”

“Yes, but I want to talk with him, nevertheless.”

“But what for?  You ain’t goin’ beggin’ him to—­”

“I’m not going begging at all.  When I talked with him at the Howes’ he, not knowing in the least who I was or that I was your niece, expressed sympathy for Hamilton and Company and wished there were some way of helping us out of our trouble—­something he could do, you know.  I’m not sure there isn’t something he can do.  At any rate, I am going to see him.  I shall start for Boston Monday morning.”

Zoeth ventured an observation.

“He’ll be considerable surprised to see you, won’t he?” he said.

Mary laughed.  “I think he will,” she replied.  “Surprised and a little embarrassed.  But I imagine his embarrassment will make him all the more anxious to be of service to me, and that’s what I want from him—­service.”

Of course the partners asked hundreds more questions concerning the plans.  Mary’s answers were still disappointingly vague.  Before she could tell just what she meant to do, she said she must be sure, and she was not sure yet.  A great deal would depend upon her Boston trip.  They must be patient until she returned from that.

So they were patient—­that is to say, Zoeth was really so and Captain Shadrach was as patient as it was his nature to be.  Mary was absent nearly a week.  When she returned she had much to tell.  She had visited Mr. Green at his office on Commercial Street.  His surprise and embarrassment were all that she had prophesied.  He offered profuse apologies for his blunder at the Howes’.

“Of course, if I had known of your relationship to Captain Gould and Mr. Hamilton,” he began, “I should never—­Really, I am—­I assure you I hadn’t the slightest idea—­”

He was floundering like a stranded fish.  Mary helped him off the shoals by taking the remainder of his apologies for granted.

“Of course you hadn’t,” she said.  “But I am very glad you told me, Mr. Green.  It was high time I knew.  Don’t say another word about it, please.  I have come to you to ask advice and, perhaps, help of a sort.  May I have a little of your time?”