A couple of clerks entered.

"Rose and Ferguson, you will witness Mr. Alan Craig's signature. All
right now, Alan!"

The young man dashed down his name and got up smiling.

Never was last will and testament more eagerly, more cheerfully signed.
The clerks performed their parts and retired.

Alan Craig seized Bullard's hand. "I'm more than obliged to you," he said
heartily, "and to you, too, Mr. Lancaster." He darted over to the hearth.

The oldish man seemed to rouse himself for the handshake. "Of course,
it's merely a matter of form, Alan," he said, and cleared his throat;
"merely a matter of form. In ordinary times you would have been welcome
to the money without--a--anything of the sort, but at present it so
happens--"

"Alan quite understands," Bullard interrupted genially, "that in present
circumstances it was not possible for us to advance even a trifle like
three thousand without something in the way of security--merely as a
matter of form, as you have put it. We might have asked him to sign a
bill or bond; but that method would have been repugnant to you,
Lancaster, as it was to me. As we have arranged it, Alan can start for
the Arctic without feeling a penny in debt--"

"Hardly that," the young man quickly put in. "But I shall go without
feeling I must meet grasping creditors the moment I return. Upon my word,