Damon.
"Oh--nothing," answered Tom. "I--I'll tell you later. Go on,
please."
"It is all so confusing," proceeded Mrs. Damon. "You know my
husband has been in trouble of late--financial trouble?"
"Yes," responded Tom, "he mentioned it to me."
"I don't know any of the details," sighed Mrs. Damon, "but I know
he was mixed up with a man named Peters."
"I know him, too," spoke Tom, grimly.
"My husband has been very gloomy of late," went on Mrs. Damon. "He
foolishly entrusted almost his entire fortune to that man, and
last night he told me it was probably all gone. He said he saw
only the barest chance to save it, but that he was going to take
that chance."
"Did he go into details?" asked Tom.
"No, that was all he said. That was about ten o'clock. He didn't
want to go to bed. He just sat about, and he kept saying over and
over again: 'Bless my tombstone!' 'Bless the cemetery!' and all
such stuff as that. You know how he was," and she smiled through
her tears.
"Yes," said Tom. "I know. Only it wasn't like him to bless such
grewsome things. He was more jolly."
"He hasn't been, of late," sighed his wife. "Well, he sat about
all the evening, and he kept figuring away, trying, I suppose, to
find some way out of his trouble."
"Why didn't he come to my father?" cried Tom. "I told him he could
have all the money he needed to tide him over.
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