Roger dashed from his seat, seized his hat, and with a hurried word to his father, rushed outside.
A delivery-cart was standing before the door. He did not stop to see whose it was, but seizing the reins, urged the horse toward the centre of the city.
There was a crowd around the bank, but the cordon of police let him through. Inside was a group of bank officials, reporters, and detectives.
The president’s face was flushed and angry. “Yes we have had a loss,” he said to Roger. “Oh, young Gravely—his grandmother came for him.”
Roger elbowed his way out and took a cab to River Street.
Here it was quiet. The noise of the bank robbery had not reached this neighbourhood. He ran up-stairs three steps at a time to Bonny’s large room in the top of the house, and softly pushed open the door.
Bonny was in bed. Grandma, Berty, a woman of the neighbourhood, and a doctor were bending over him.
Roger could see that the boy’s face was pale and bandaged.
“Bonny,” he said, involuntarily.
The boy heard him and opened his eyes.