But no matter what I call it, he's going to foreclose." Barclay's eyes opened to attention.

The colonel went on.

"The original indebtedness was a matter of ten thousand--you will remember, John, that's what I paid for my share of the College Heights property, and while I have disposed of some,--in point of fact sold it at considerable profit,--yet, as you know, and as this scoundrel knows, for I have written him pointedly to that effect, I have been temporarily unable to remit any sum substantial enough to justify bothering him with it.

But now the scamp, the grasping insulting brigand, notifies me that unless I pay him when the mortgage is due,--to be plain, sir, next week,--he proposes to foreclose on me." The colonel's brows were knit with trouble.

His voice faltered as he added: "And, John--John Barclay, my good friend--do you realize that that little piece of property out on the hill is all I have on earth now, except the roof over my head?
And may--" here his voice slid into a tenor with pent-up emotion--"maybe the contemptible rapscallion will try to get that." The colonel had risen and was pacing the floor.