They had had lunch together, and Aynesworth had taken a
fancy to the boy--he was little more--fresh from Harvard and full of
enthusiasm. He scarcely recognized him for a moment. The fresh color
had gone from his cheeks, his eyes were set in a fixed, wild stare; he
seemed suddenly aged. Aynesworth stopped him.
"Hullo, Nesbitt!" he exclaimed. "What's wrong?"
The young man would have passed on with a muttered greeting, but
Aynesworth turned round with him, and led the way into one of the
smaller smoking rooms. He called for drinks and repeated his question.
"Your governor has me six hundred Hardwells short," Nesbitt answered
curtly.
"Six hundred! What does it mean?" Aynesworth asked.
"Sixty thousand dollars, or thereabouts," the young man answered
despairingly. "His brokers won't listen to me, and your
governor--well, I've just been to see him. I won't call him names! And
we thought that some fool of an Englishman was burning his fingers
with those shares. I'm not the only one caught, but the others can
stand it. I can't, worse luck!"
"I'm beastly sorry," Aynesworth said truthfully. "I wish I could help
you."
Nesbitt raised his head. A sudden light flashed in his eyes; he spoke
quickly, almost feverishly.
"Say, Aynesworth," he exclaimed, "do you think you could do anything
with your governor for me? You see--it's ruin if I have to pay up. I
wouldn't mind--for myself, but I was married four months ago, and I
can't bear the thought of going home--and telling her.
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