“What time is it?” Garwood asked.
Hale looked at his watch again.
“Two-thirty,” he replied. He had once been a railroader.
“The bank closes at four,” said Garwood. He began slowly and hesitatingly to button his waistcoat, and as though to occupy some irresolute moment that awaited the formation of big issues, he poured himself another drink, and gulped it, making a wry face. Another moment passed while the two men stood narrowly watching him.
“The polls close at seven, don’t they?” he asked.
“Don’t know but they do,” replied Pusey.
Then Garwood, with the firmness of a final decision, put his hat on his head.
“You wait here,” he said.
Then he bolted from the room.