"Well--I--" he began lamely.
"No, you weren't either," interrupted Harry, with a laugh that was
unmistakably cordial and friendly. "You had quite forgotten what you
were waiting for--isn't that so, Sis?"
Helen regarded her brother through her veiling lashes: what meant this
sudden assumption of warmth and amiability?
"No, indeed; he was raging with impatience," she returned.
"Why, Miss Cresswell, I--I--" John Taylor forsook social amenities and
pulled himself together. "Well," shortly, "now for that talk--ready?"
And quite forgetting Miss Cresswell, he bolted into the parlor.
"The decision we have come to is this," said Harry Cresswell. "We are in
debt, as you know."
"Forty-nine thousand, seven hundred and forty-two dollars and twelve
cents," responded Taylor; "in three notes, due in twelve, twenty-four,
and thirty-six months, interest at eight per cent, held by--"
The Colonel snorted his amazement, and Harry Cresswell cut in:
"Yes," he calmly admitted; "and with good crops for three years we'd be
all right; good crops even for two years would leave us fairly well
off."
"You mean it would relieve you of the present stringency and put you
face to face with the falling price of cotton and rising wages," was
John Taylor's dry addendum.
"Rising price of cotton, you mean," Harry corrected.
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