“Yes. Let me come in. I must talk with you.”
“I don’t know what you mean, girl,” declared he. “I want nothing to do with you. I feel——”
“Oh, wait! wait!” half sobbed Janice, so excited that her nerves were on the jump. “It’s about your money.”
“My money?” repeated the Elder.
“Your money in the Middletown Trust Company. I heard uncle say you had fifteen thousand dollars there.”
“Your uncle is a busybody,” snarled the Elder. “What business is it of his or yours?”
“But you may lose it!” cried Janice, desperately.
The old man’s hand was uplifted and he was about to utter some malediction for which he might have been sorry. The girl’s earnestness, her clutch at his arm, or, possibly, the mention of the word “lose,” stayed him. He said, huskily:
“Come in.”
“You haven’t a minute to lose, Elder Concannon,” declared Janice, in conclusion, when she had told what she knew of the trust company’s affairs. “Your clock there on the mantel says it is half past two already. The bank closes in an hour. I believe—in fact I am almost sure—it will not open for business to-morrow. If you don’t reach there by half past three you may not be able to use your money.”