And now here was Richard meditating a visit to that same house to beg a favor!

Nothing but his love for Margaret could have dragged him to such a banquet of humble-pie as he knew was spread for his delectation, the morning he passed up the main street of Stillwater and turned into Welch’s Court.

As Richard laid his hand on the latch of the gate, Mr. Shackford, who was digging in the front garden, looked up and saw him.  Without paying any heed to Richard’s amicable salutation, the old man left the shove sticking in the sod, and walked stiffly into the house.  At another moment this would have amused Richard, but now he gravely followed his kinsman, and overtook him at the foot of the staircase.

“Cousin Shackford, can you spare me five or ten minutes?”

“Don’t know as I can,” said Mr. Shackford, with one foot on the lower stair.  “Time is valuable.  What do you want?  You want something.”

“Certainly, or I wouldn’t think of trespassing on your time.”

“Has Slocum thrown you over?” inquired the old man, turning quickly.  A straw which he held between his thin lips helped to give him a singularly alert expression.

“No; Mr. Slocum and I agree the best in the world.  I want to talk with you briefly on certain matters; I want to be on decent terms with you, if you will let me.”

“Decent terms means money, doesn’t it?” asked Mr. Shackford, with a face as wary and lean as a shark’s.

“I do wish to talk about money, among other things,” returned Richard, whom this brutal directness disconcerted a little,—­“money on satisfactory security.”

“You can get it anywhere with that.”

“So I might, and be asking no favor; but I would rather get it of you, and consider it an obligation.”

“I would rather you wouldn’t.”

“Listen to me a moment.”

“Well, I’m listening.”

Mr. Shackford stood in an attitude of attention, with his head canted on one side, his eyes fixed on the ceiling, and the straw between his teeth tilted up at an angle of forty degrees.

“I have, as you know, worked my way in the marble yard to the position of general manager,” began Richard.

“I didn’t know,” said Mr. Shackford, “but I understand.  You’re a sort of head grave-stone maker.”

“That is taking a rather gloomy view of it,” said Richard, “but no matter.  The point is, I hold a responsible position, and I now have a chance to purchase a share in the works.”

“Slocum is willing to take you in, eh?”

“Yes.”

“Then the concern is hit.”

“Hit?”

“Slocum is going into bankruptcy.”

“You are wrong there.  The yard was never so prosperous; the coming year we shall coin money like a mint.”

“You ought to know,” said Mr. Shackford, ruminatively.  “A thing as good as a mint must be a good thing.”

“If I were a partner in the business, I could marry Margaret.”