"Ghoul of the Blerze will assail me, eh?" said Israel, fidgeting in his chair: "He'll talk o' nothin' else than Chow Bank, Muddy Run and Terrapin Hollow, for months to come,—eh, Fetch?"
"For years, for years," responded Fetch, "It will be nuts for Ghoul."
"And that cursed affair last night!" continued Yorke, as though thinking aloud, "Seventy-one thousand gone at one slap."
Fetch looked funnily at his principal from beneath his gold spectacles: "No? It was real then? I thought—"
Mr. Yorke abruptly consigned the thoughts of Mr. Fetch to a personage who shall be nameless, and then continued:
"It was real,—a bona fide robbery. Seventy-one thousand at a slap! By-the-bye, Fetch, has Blossom been here to-night—Blossom the police officer?"
"Couldn't get in; too much of a crowd in the street."
"I did not intend him to come by the front door. He was to come up the back way,—about this hour—he gave me some hope this afternoon. That was an unfortunate affair last night!"
"How they roar! Listen!" said Fetch, bending himself into a listening attitude.
And again that ominous sound came from the street without,—the combined groans and curses of six thousand human beings.