“Money!” he said. “You wanted money. You must have wanted it bad. What did you want it for?”
“I can't tell you.”
“You had better. It's your only chance, I tell you that!”
“I can't help it, Captain Dean. I can't tell you. I wish I could.”
He regarded me in silence for a moment. Then: “All right,” he said, solemnly. “I'm through with you, Ros Paine. In one way I'm through with you. In another I ain't. I cal'late you was figgerin' to go straight up to the bank, as bold as brass, and set down at George Taylor's desk and draw your wages like an honest man. Don't you ever dare set foot in that bank again. You're fired! bounced! kicked out! Do you understand?”
“Very well; I understand.”
“You will understand, whether you do now or not. Colton's got the Shore Lane and you've got his dirty money in your pocket. He's paid you, but the town ain't. The town you sold out ain't paid you—but I'm goin' to see that it does. Ros Paine, I'm goin' to drive you out of Denboro.”
He turned on his heel, strode to the door, went out, and slammed it behind him.
I went back to the dining-room. Lute was nowhere in sight, but Dorinda was standing by the mantel, dusting, as usual, where there was no dust. I did not speak but walked toward the door leading to the stairs. Dorinda stepped in front of me.
“Roscoe,” she said, sharply, “can he do it?”