“There's the money, George,” I said. “Now you've got just time enough to catch that nine o'clock train for Boston.”
I thought, for a moment, he was going to collapse altogether. Then he pounced upon the money, counted it with fingers that trembled so he could scarcely control them, and turned to me.
“Ros—Ros—” he stammered. “Where did you—how did you—Great God, man! I—I—”
“There! there!” I interrupted. “I told you I wasn't a pauper exactly. Put that where you won't lose it and clear out. You haven't any time to argue.”
“But—but, Ros, I hadn't ought to take this from you. I don't see where you got it and—”
“That's my business. Will you go?”
“I don't know as I ever can pay you. Lord knows I'll try all my life, but—”
I seized his arm. “George,” I urged, impatiently, “you fool, don't waste time. Get that train, do you hear! Those bonds must be in that safe by night. Go!”
The mention of the bonds did what my urging had failed to do. He crammed the bills into his pocket book, thrust the latter into an inside pocket, and rushed from the room. I followed him as far as the outer door. He was running up the road like a wild man. Sam stared after him.
“For mercy sakes!” he cried, “what's the matter with the boss? Has he gone loony?”