y;
but the money-lender declared that he would not risk another dollar on
the security. Then Mr. Bennington mortgaged his furniture for two
thousand dollars,--all he could obtain on it,--in order to relieve the
pressure upon him; but even then the "floating debt" annoyed him very
seriously. He had always paid his bills promptly, and kept out of debt,
so that his present embarrassment was doubly annoying to him, on account
of its novelty. With all his mind, heart and soul he regretted that he
had undertaken the great enterprise, and feared that it would end in
total ruin to him.

The landlord talked freely with his wife and Leopold about his
embarrassments, and the son suffered quite as much as the father on
account of them. There were guests enough in the hotel to have met the
expenses of the old establishment, but not of the new one; and the
landlord found it difficult even to pay the daily demands upon him. He
was almost in despair, and a dollar seemed larger to him now than ever
before, and hardly a single one of them would stay in his pocket over
night. The interest on the mortgage note would be due on the first of
July, and Mr. Bennington knew not where to obtain the first dollar with
which to pay it. The landlord was in great distress, for he knew that
Squire Moses was as relentless as death itself, and would show him no
mercy.

"I don't see but I must fail," said Mr. Bennington, with a deep sigh, as
the day of payment drew near.

"Fail, father!" exclaimed Leopold.

"That will be the end of it all. If I don't pay my interest on the day
it is due, Squire Wormbury will foreclose his mortgage, and take
possession of the house," groaned the landlord.

"Can't something be done, father?" asked the son.

"I don't know what I can do, I have borrowed of everybody who will lend
me a dollar. With one good season I could pay off every dollar I owe,
except Squire Wormbury's mortgage. It seems hard to go to the wall just
for the want of a month's time. I am sure I shall make money after the
season opens, for I have engaged half the rooms in the house after the
middle of July. Half a dozen families from Chicago are coming then, and
when I was in Boston a dozen people told me they would come here for the
summer."

"I think you will find some way to raise the money, father," added
Leopold, more hopeful than his father.

"I don't see where it is coming from. The bank won't discount any more
for me. I feel like a beggar a