Entering the dining-room I found Dorinda and Lute at the window, peering after the butler.
“By time!” exclaimed Lute, “if I didn't know I should say he was a bigger big-bug than old Colton himself. Look how he struts! He sartin is a dignified lookin' man. I don't see how he ever come to be just hired help.”
“Um-hm,” sniffed the cynical Mrs. Rogers. “Well; you can get an awful lot of dignity for its board and lodgin'! There's nothin' much more dignified or struts much better'n a rooster, but it's the hens that lay the eggs. What did he want, Roscoe?”
I made some excuse or other for Mr. Johnson's early call and, taking my cap from the rack, hurried from the house. I went “across lots” and, running a good part of the way, reached the bank just as Sam Wheeler was sweeping out. He expressed surprise at my early arrival and wished to know what was up.
“Ain't nothin' wrong, is there, Ros?” asked Sam anxiously. “I saw by the paper that the market was feverish again yesterday.”
Sam was an ambitious youth and, being desirous of becoming a banker in the shortest possible time, read the financial page with conscientious thoroughness. I assured him that the market's fever was not contagious—at least I had not contracted the disease—and sent him out to sweep the front steps. As soon as he had gone I opened the safe, found, to my joy, that we had an abundance of currency on hand, cashed the Colton check and locked it securely in the drawer of my own desk. So far I was safe. Now to secure George's safety.
He came in soon after, looking as if, as he had told me, he had not slept for years. He bade Sam good morning and then walked over to my side.
“Well, Ros?” he asked, laying a shaking hand on the desk beside me.
“Not here, George,” I whispered. “Come into the directors' room.”
I led the way and he followed me. I closed the door behind us, took the thirty-five hundred dollars in notes from my pocket and laid them on the table.