a year until I'm of
age, and then I can pay it all back. Surely we can find somebody to help
us out!"

"Ah, my darling, your trust is born of inexperience. People do not lend
money without security. There is absolutely no one to whom I can appeal."

Eleanor, sitting on the arm of his chair, suddenly started up.

"I have it!" she cried. "I know who will help us! Captain Phipps! He
knows better than any one else what it means to you to have this next
year free to finish the play. He will be _glad_ to do it; I know he
will."

Mr. Martel looked slightly embarrassed. "As a matter of fact, he has been
approached on the subject," he said. "He was most sympathetic and kind,
but unfortunately his money is all invested at present."

"Fiddlesticks!" cried Eleanor in a tone so suggestive of her paternal
grandmother that Quin smiled. "What difference does it make if it _is_
invested? Let him un-invest it. I am sure I could get him to lend it to
_me_, only I would hate awfully to ask him."

Mr. Martel's roving eyes came back to hers hopefully.

"I wonder if you could?" he said, grasping at the proffered straw.
"Perhaps if he understood that _your_ career was at stake, that my
disappointment would mean _your_ disappointment, he would make some
special effort to assist us. Will you go to him, child? Will you plead
our cause for us?"

Eleanor hesitated but a moment; then she set her lips firmly. "Yes," she
said, with a little catch in her voice; "I will. I'll go to him in the
morning."

Quin, who had been staring out of the window, deep in thought, turned
abruptly to Mr. Martel.

"When do you have to have the money?" he asked.

"By next Wednesday, the first--no, the second of April. The date is
burned in my memory."

"You see, there's no time to lose," said Eleanor. "I'd rather die than do
it, but I'll ask Harold Phipps to-morrow morning."

"No, you won't," said Quin peremptorily; "I am going to get the money
myself."

"But he wouldn't lend it to _you_. You don't understand!"

"Yes, I do. Will you leave the matter with me until Sunday night, Mr.
Martel, and let me see what I can do?"

Quin made the suggestion as calmly as if he had unlimited resources at
his disposal. Had the sum been six million dollars instead of six
thousand, he would have made the offer just the same. The paramount
necessity of the moment was to keep Eleanor Bartlett from borrowing money
from a man like Harold Phipps. Mr. Martel's claims were of