But Martha Phipps would not accept a loan, anyway.  She had told him that very thing, and he knew her well enough by this time to know she meant what she said.

Yet there remained the imminent and dreadful question:  How, how, how could he go down to where she was sitting waiting and tell her that her hopes, hopes which he had raised, were based solely upon the vaporings of an optimistic donkey?

In his wrathful disgust with that donkey he shifted angrily in his chair and his foot struck a bit of paper upon the floor.  It rustled and the rustle attracted his attention.  Absently he stepped and picked up the paper.  It was the slip which had fallen from the Cabot, Bancroft and Cabot letter and was a check drawn to his order for fourteen thousand, three hundred and ten dollars and thirty-eight cents, his share of the Tinplate “melon.”

Fifteen more minutes passed before Mr. Bangs came down to the sitting room, but when he did he came in a great hurry.  He dashed into the apartment and announced his intention of starting for Boston at once.

“And—­and if you will be so kind as to let me have those—­ah—­ shares of yours, Miss Martha,” he said.

Martha looked at him.  She had been rather pale when he entered, but now the color rushed to her face.

“Shares?” she repeated.  “Do you mean—­”

“Those—­ah—­Development shares of yours—­yes.  If you will be good enough to let me take them with me—­”

“Take them with you? . . .  Oh, Mr. Bangs, you don’t mean you have heard from your cousin and that he is goin’ to—­”

“Yes—­ah—­yes,” broke in Galusha, hastily.  “I have heard.  I am to—­that is, I must take the shares with me and go to Boston at once.  If you will be willing to entrust them to me, Miss Martha.”

“I’ll get ’em this minute.”  She started toward the stairs, but paused and turned.

“Is it really settled, Mr. Bangs?” she asked, as if scarcely daring to believe in the possibility.  “Are they really goin’ to buy that Wellmouth stock of mine?”

“Why—­why—­” Galusha was yawing badly, but he clutched the helm and kept on the course; “I—­ah—­hope so, Miss Martha, I hope so.”

“And pay me—­pay me money for it?”

“I presume so.  I hope so.  If you will—­”

“I declare, it doesn’t seem possible!  Who, for mercy sakes, is goin’ to buy it?  Mr. Cabot, himself?”

He had been expecting this and was prepared for it.  He had rehearsed his answer many times before coming downstairs.  He held up a protesting hand.

“I am very sorry,” he said, “but—­but, you see, that is a—­ah—­ secret, I understand.  Of course, they did not write me who was to buy the stock and so—­and so—­”

“And so you don’t know.  Well, it doesn’t make a bit of difference, really.  The Lord knows I shouldn’t care so long as I sell it honestly and don’t cheat anybody.  And a big house like Cabot, Bancroft and Cabot ought to know what they’re doin’ when they buy, or let any of their customers buy.  I’ll get the certificate this very minute, Mr. Bangs.”