seem a shame, after we've kept it so long," returned his sister. "But do as you think best. Only, Jack, dear, please don't worry. It will all come out right in the end."
Her brother had laid down his knife and fork and was resting his chin on his hand in deep meditation.
"You're right, Deb," he exclaimed starting up, "and I ought to be thankful for what we have got, especially for having such a good little sister to ease things up."
"Say, Jack," suddenly began Deb, struck with an idea, "you are so handy with the tools, why don't you open a little shop of your own? Wouldn't it pay?"
Jack's face brightened more than it had for many a day.
"I'm glad you said that," he replied. "I've often thought of it. But I hated to give up a certainty like my wages for-"
"Yes, but now-" began Deb.
"One misfortune gives me a chance to tempt another." He gave a sorry little laugh. "Is that what you mean?"
"You'll get along-never fear."
"There ought to be a chance, true enough. I could sharpen tools, repair lawn mowers and bicycles, and mend all sorts of things. There is no such shop in Corney as yet, and it ought to pay."
"How much would it cost to start?" asked Deb, with great interest.
"I think fifty or sixty dollars would put me into shape to do small work. I have most of the tools, and would only need a lathe and one or two other things-that I could get second-hand."
"I'll tell you what to do then," was Deb's conclusion; "to-morrow morning, go down to the bank and draw out seventy-five dollars. Then we'll pay the rent, and you can take the rest and try your luck."
"Yes, but-"
"No buts, Jack; I'm willing to put up with whatever comes-bad luck as well as good. I'm sure you'll succeed."
"If your good wishes count for anything, I certainly shall," exclaimed Jack, earnestly. "I think I can rent a shop for ten dollars a month, or, maybe, if I pay a little more, I can get one with living rooms attached, which would be cheaper than hiring two places."
"And nicer, too," returned Deb; "you wouldn't have to go so far for dinner, and I could attend to customers while you were away."
The pair talked in this strain for over an hour. His sister's sanguine way of looking at the matter made the young machinist feel as if perhaps the shut-down was not such a bad thing, after all, and might prove the turning point to something better than they had ever before known.
The next morning, for the first time in several years, Jack had breakfast late. It was soon over, and then he put on his good clothes and started for the bank.
The streets were thronged with idle men. The Corney Tool Company employed nearly a thousand persons-in fact, it was by far the principal factory in the place-and to have all these employes thrown out of work was a calamity discussed by everyone.
The Mechanics' Savings Bank had been organized by Mr. Felix Gray, the owner of the tool works, who presided over both places. He was a man of fifty, with an unusually sharp and irritable disposition.
As Jack approached the bank he noticed a large crowd collected in and around the building.
"I suppose, as they can't get their pay, they want to withdraw some of their savings," was his thought as he drew nearer.
An instant later a queer cry came from the interior of the bank, and it was quickly taken up by those outside.
"What is it?" asked the young machinist, of a bystander.
"They've suspended payment," was the short reply.
"What!" gasped Jack, in horror. "You don't mean it?"
But at the same time the crowd cried out loudly, in angry tones:
"The bank's burst! She's gone up for good! No money for the poor man! We can all starve!"
CHAPTER II
FOR THE SAKE OF HOME
"Can this be possible? Has the bank really burst?"
Over and over Jack asked himself the question. Then the words of the crowd echoed and re-echoed through his ears. Yes, the bank had suspended payment. There was no money for him-no money for anyone!
"It's too bad!" he groaned. "What will Deb say?"
The thought of his sister gave him another pang. Without money and without work, how could he continue to take care of her?
"Oh! Jack, me b'y, not wan pinny av me two hundred dollars will they give me at all," exclaimed Andy Mosey, a fellow-workman, bitterly.
"How did it happen?" asked the young machinist.
"No wan knows. Oi guess old Gray is in a toight hole, an' is usin' the bank's money to get him out."
Andy Mosey was a heavy-set Irishman, with a bloated, red face and fiery hair and beard. His work brought him into daily contact with the young machinist, but Jack did not like the man, first on account of his drinking habit, and secondly, because he suspected the Irishman of having stolen from the pocket of his jumper a silver match safe-a highly-valued Willington heirloom.
"It's a bad business, and no mistake."
The speaker was Dennis Corrigan, a pattern maker. He was a brother-in-law to Mosey, but much more educated, and somewhat refined in appearance as well.
"Yes, indeed," returned Jack.
"How do they expect us to live if they don't pay us our wages or let us draw our savings either?"
"Old Gray will pay dearly fer this," put in Andy Mosey, with a wicked look in his eye; "oi'll vow he'll be moighty sorry for this day's worruk ere long."
Jack elbowed his way up the bank steps and into the building. The cashier's window was closed, and behind the glass this notice was pasted up:
"Depositors are hereby notified that owing to the unexpected run upon this bank, no further payments will be made until the more available assets are converted into cash."
The crowd were all talking loudly and excitedly, and Jack tried in vain to obtain definite information concerning the cause for the suspension.
At length, sick at heart, he returned to the sidewalk, where Andy Mosey, the worse for several glasses of liquor, again addressed him.
"Not wan pinny av me two hundred dollars, Jack, me b'y!" he repeated in a heavy voice; "an' they call it a free counthry! Sure it's only free fer rich people to rob the poor!"
"It's rough," replied Jack.
"Old Gray will pay dearly fer it, mark me wurruds!"
"What will you do?"
"Never moind, Jack, me b'y! Thrust Andy Mosey to get square wid the ould villian!"
Jack retraced his steps homeward with slow and unwilling steps. All his bright hopes of the past hour had been dashed to naught. No money meant no start in business, and with a thousand men idle what chances were there of finding employment?
"If I had a few dollars in my pocket I might try some other town," he thought. "But without some money, it's hard lines, sure enough."
Jack would not have felt it so much had he been alone, but with Deb depending upon him, his responsibility seemed more than doubled.
Their home was on the second floor of a large apartment house standing upon one of the side streets of Corney. As Jack ascended the stairs he heard talking in the kitchen.
"Wonder who is here? Visitors of some kind," he thought.
Entering, the young machinist found Mr. Hammerby, the house-agent, in earnest conversation with Deb.
Mr. Hammerby was a short, dapper business man, small in form, and a person of few words.
"Yes, I never allow a rent day to go by," he was saying. "People who hire from me must expect to pay promptly."
"But sometimes people fall ill, and get behind-" began Deb.
"True, but that's not my fault, and I