Carmen shook her head. “No,” she said, “we will not talk about evil. You––you have the money? A thousand––”
“I have that much on deposit in the bank now, Carmen,” he replied gravely. His thought was on the mortgage which he had signed that morning.
“Then write me a check at once, and I will deposit it in the Avon bank when I get there to-morrow. I must go home now––to see mother.”
“But––let me think about it, Carmen. Money is––well, won’t less than that amount do you?”
“No, Mr. Hitt. Write the check now.”
Hitt sighed, but made no further protest. If the Express must founder, then this money were well spent on the stricken people of Avon. He took out his book, and immediately wrote the check and handed it to the girl.
“Hitt,” said Haynerd, after Carmen had left them and he had exhausted his protests over the size of the check, “something’s killing that girl! And it isn’t only the trouble at Avon, either! What is it? I believe you know.”
Hitt shook his head. “She’s no longer in this world, Ned. She left it two days ago.”
“Eh? Say! News about that Rincón fellow?”
But Hitt would say nothing to further illuminate his cryptic remark, and Haynerd soon switched to the grim topic of the industrial war in progress at Avon.