“Now.”
“No, sir; I will not.”
“When will you pay it?”
“To-morrow,” I replied, willing to gain even a day’s’ delay.
“Very well; if it isn’t paid to-morrow, I’ll trustee your salary, and keep doing it till the note is paid!” exclaimed he, darting out the ante-room where we had gone to talk over the matter.
I felt very much like sinking through the floor. Not only was I cut off from obtaining the two thousand dollars from Aunt Rachel, but I was called upon to pay the thousand I already owed her. The means of making my account good with the bank were gone, for Aunt Rachel was too sick even to speak to me. What could I do?
I went into the banking-room, and balanced my cash-two thousand short! No one knew it but myself. Mr. Bristlebach was a careful man. He made frequent forays into all the departments of the institution, and the fact could not long be concealed from him. It was about time for the directors to make an examination of the funds. I should be ruined in a few days, or weeks, at most. I could only study how to defer rather than avoid the catastrophe. I put my cash into the safe, and left the building. My face was like a sheet as I saw it in the glass before I left the bank. My heart was in my throat. I could not see any thing or any body as I walked along State Street.
“Glasswood, how are you?”
I turned to the speaker. It was Cormorin, paying-teller of the Forty-third. I was well acquainted with him, and he lived near my house. He had been present at our party, and had drank more champagne than any other five persons present.