University of Virginia Library

23. CHAPTER XXIII.
A DANGEROUS STEP.

EDITH took her deed, and went first to Mr.
Hard. There was both coldness and curiosity
in his manner, but he could gather little from
Edith's face through her thick vail.

She had a painful shrinking from meeting people
again after what had happened, and this was greatly
increased by the curious and significant looks she
saw turned toward her as soon as it was surmised
who she was.

Mr. Hard promptly declined to lend any money,
He “Never did such things,” he said.

“Where would I be apt to get it?” asked Edith,
despondently.

“I scarcely know. Money is scarce, and people
don't like to lend it on country mortgages, especially
when there may be trouble. Lawyer Keen might
give you some information.”

To his office Edith went, with slow, heavy steps,
and presented her case.

Mr. Keen was a red-faced, burly-looking man,
hiding the traditional shrewdness of a village lawyer
under a bluff, outspoken manner. He had a sort of
good-nature, which, though not leading him to help
others who were in trouble, kept him from trying to

get them into more trouble, and he quite prided
himself on this. He heard Edith partly through,
and then interrupted her, saying:

“Couldn't think of it, Miss. Widows, orphans,
and churches, are institutions on which a fellow can
never foreclose. I'll give you good advice, and
won't charge you anything for it. You had better
keep out of debt.”

“But I must have the money,” said Edith.

“Then you have come to the wrong shop for it,”
replied the lawyer, coolly. “Here's Crowl, now,
he lends where I wouldn't. He's got money of his
own, while I invest mainly for other people.”

Edith's attention was thus directed to another
red-faced man, whom, thus far, she had scarcely
noticed, though he had been watching her with the
closest scrutiny. He was quite corpulent, past
middle age, and in height not much taller than herself.
He was quite bald, and had what seemed a
black moustache, but Edith's quick eye noted that
it was unskilfully dyed. There seemed a wide expanse
in his heavy, flabby cheeks, and the rather
puggish nose looked insignificant between them. A
slight tobacco stain in one corner of his mouth did
not increase his attractions to Edith, and she positively
shrank from the expression of his small, cunning
black eyes. He was dressed both loudly and
shabbily, and a great breastpin was like a blotch
upon his rumpled shirt-bosom.

“Let me see your deed, my dear,” he said, with
coarse familiarity.

“My name is Miss Allen,” replied Edith, with
dignity.

The man paid little heed to her rebuke, but looked
over the deed with slow and microscopic scrutiny.
At last he said to Edith, whom nothing but dire
necessity impelled to have dealings with so disagreeable
a person,

“Will you come with me to my office?”

Reluctantly she followed. At first she had a
strong impulse to have nothing to do with him, but
then had thought, “It makes no difference of whom
I borrow the money, for it must be paid in any case,
and perhaps I can't get it anywhere else.”

“Are you sure there is no other mortgage?” he
asked.

“Yes,” replied Edith.

“How much do you want?”

“I will try to make four hundred answer.”

“I suppose you know how hard it is to borrow
money now,” said Mr. Crowl, in a depressing manner,
“especially in cases like this. I don't believe
you'd get a dollar anywhere else in town. Even
where everything is good and promising, we usually
get a bonus on such a loan. The best I could do
would be to let you have three hundred and sixty
on such a mortgage.”

“Then give me my deed. The security is good,
and I'm not willing to pay more than seven per cent.”

Old Crowl looked a moment at her resolute face,
beautiful even in its pallor and pain, and a new
thought seemed to strike him.

“Well, well,” said he, with an awkward show of
gallantry, “one can't do business with a pretty girl
as with a man. You shall make your own terms.”

“I wish to make no terms whatever,” said Edith,
frigidly. “I only expect what is right and just.”

“And I'm the man that'll do what's right and
just when appealed to by the fair unfortunate,” said
Mr. Crowl, with a wave of his hand.

Edith's only response to this sentiment was a
frown, and an impatient tapping of the floor with
her foot.

“Now, see how I trust you,” he continued, filling
out a check. “There is the money. I'll draw up
the papers, and you may sign them at your leisure.
Only just put your name to this receipt, which gives
the nature of our transaction;” and, in a scrawling
hand, he soon stated the case.

It was with strong misgivings that Edith took
the money and gave her signature, but she did not
see what else to do, and she was already very
weary.

“You may call again the first time you are in the
village, and by that time I'll have things fixed up.
You see now what it is to have a friend in need.”

Edith's only reply was a bow, and she hastened
to the bank. The cashier looked curiously at her,
smiled a little significant smile as he saw Crowl's
check, which she did not like, but, at her request,
placed it, and what was left from the second sale
of jewelry, to her credit, and gave her a small
check-book.