But Papa Claude was not to be consoled.
"It will be too late," he said hopelessly. "All I required was one year
more in which to retrieve my fortunes and achieve my life ambition. And
now, with success almost within my grasp, the goal within sight, this
cruel blow, this bolt from the blue----"
"Haven't you got any other property or stocks or insurance that you could
turn over?" asked Quin, who felt that the occasion demanded numerical
figures rather than figures of speech.
"Only a small farm out near Anchordale, which belonged to my precious
wife's father. It is quite as worthless as he was, poor dear! I have
offered it repeatedly in payment, but they refused to consider it."
"Is there a house on it?" persisted Quin.
"Yes--an uninhabitable old stone structure that has stood there for
nearly a century. For years I have tried in vain to rent or sell it. I
have left no stone unturned, Quinby. I know I am regarded as a visionary,
a dreamer, but I assure you----"
"What about the ground?"
"Very hilly and woody. Absolutely good for nothing but a stock farm.
Utterly incapable of cultivation. It's no use considering it, my dear
boy.
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