“It is not for me, Uncle Peter—­or I would not come to you for it.”

“For whom is it, then?” Peter asked, in a tone that showed how great was his relief now that Jack was not involved.

“Don’t ask me, please.”

Peter was about to speak, but he checked himself.  He saw it all now.  The money was for MacFarlane, and the boy did not like to say so.  He had heard something of Henry’s financial difficulties caused by the damage to the “fill.”  He thought that this had been made good; he saw now that he was misinformed.

“When do you want it, Jack?” he resumed.  He was willing to help, no matter who it was for.

“Before Monday night.”

Peter drew out his watch as if to find some relief from its dial, and slipped it into his pocket again.  It was not yet three o’clock and his bank was still open, but it did not contain ten thousand dollars or any other sum that he could draw upon.  Besides, neither Jack, nor MacFarlane, nor anybody connected with Jack, had an account at the Exeter.  The discounting of their notes was, therefore, out of the question.

“To-day is a short business day, Jack, being Saturday,” he said with a sigh.  “If I had known of this before I might have—­and yet to tell you the simple truth, my boy, I don’t know a human being in the world who would lend me that much money, or whom I could ask for it.”

“I thought maybe Mr. Morris might, if you went to him, but I understand he is out of town,” returned Jack.

“Yes,” answered Peter in a perplexed tone—­“yes—­Holker has gone to Chicago and won’t be back for a week.”  He, too, had thought of Morris and the instantaneous way in which he would have reached for his check-book.

“And you must have it by Monday night?” Peter continued, his thoughts bringing into review one after the other all the moneyed men he knew.  “Well—­well—­that is a very short notice.  It means Monday to hunt in, really—­to-morrow being Sunday.”

He leaned back and sat in deep thought, Jack watching every expression that crossed his face.  Perhaps Ruth was mixed up in it in some way.  Perhaps their marriage depended upon it—­not directly, but indirectly—­making a long postponement inevitable.  Perhaps MacFarlane had some old score to settle.  This contracting was precarious business.  Once before he had known Henry to be in just such straits.  Again he consulted his watch.

Then a new and cheering thought struck him.  He rose quickly from his seat on the sofa and crossed the room to get his hat.

“It is a forlorn hope, Jack, but I’ll try it.  Come back here in an hour—­or stay here and wait.”

“No, I’ll keep moving,” replied Jack.  “I have thought of some supply men who know me; our account is considerable; they would lend it to Mr. MacFarlane, but that’s not the way I want it.  I’ll see them and get back as soon as I can—­perhaps in a couple of hours.”