“I am going to see Uncle Arthur in the morning,” he answered quickly, uncovering his brooding thoughts.  “It won’t do any good, perhaps, but I will try it.  I have never asked him for a cent for myself, and I won’t now.  He may help Corinne this time, now that Garry is dead.  There must be some outside money due Garry that he has not been able to collect—­commissions on unfinished work.  This can be turned in when it is due.  Then I am going to Uncle Peter, and after that to some of the people we trade with.”

Breen was standing by the ticker when Jack entered.  It was a busy day in the Street and values were going up by leaps and bounds.  The broker was not in a good humor; many of his customers were short of the market.

He followed Jack into his private office and faced him.

“Funeral’s at one o’clock Sunday, I see,” he said in a sharp voice, as if he resented the incident.  “Your aunt and I will be out on the noon train.  She got back this morning, pretty well bunged up.  Killed himself, didn’t he?”

“That is not the doctor’s opinion, sir, and he was with him when he died.”

“Well, it looks that way to me.  He’s busted—­and all balled up in the Street.  If you know anybody who will take the lease off Corinne’s hands, let me know.  She and the baby are coming to live with us.”

Jack replied that he would make it his business to do so, with pleasure, and after giving his uncle the details of Garry’s death he finally arrived at the tangled condition of his affairs.

Breen promptly interrupted him.

“Yes, so Corinne told me.  She was in here one day last week and wanted to borrow ten thousand dollars.  I told her it didn’t grow on trees.  Suppose I had given it to her?  Where would it be now.  Might as well have thrown it in the waste-basket.  So I shut down on the whole business—­had to.”

Jack waited until his uncle had relieved his mind.  The state of the market had something to do with his merciless point of view; increasing irritability, due to loss of sleep, and his habits had more.  The outburst over, Jack said in a calm direct voice, watching the effect of the words as a gunner watches a shell from his gun: 

“Will you lend it to me, sir?”

Arthur was pacing his private office, casting about in his mind how to terminate the interview, when Jack’s shot overhauled him.  Garry’s sudden death had already led him to waste a few more minutes of his time than he was accustomed to on a morning like this, unless there was business in it.

He turned sharply, looked at Jack for an instant, and dropped into the revolving chair fronting his desk.

Then he said in a tone of undisguised surprise: 

“Lend you ten thousand dollars!  What for?”

“To clear up some matters of Garry’s at Corklesville.  The Warehouse matter has been closed out, so Corinne tells me.”

“Oh, that’s it, is it?  I thought you wanted it for yourself.  Who signs for it?”