“It was right yesterday, at three o’clock,” I answered.
“If it was right at three, it was not at five. I advise you, Mr. Glasswood, to make no denials to any statement which you know to be true. You are a defaulter, sir!”
Troubles never come singly. It was not enough that I should quarrel with my angelic wife, but I must cross swords with Mr. Bristlebach, who was far from angelic. I might as well find the deep water off Long Wharf and drown myself. What would Lilian say if I did? Would she care? Or would she be only shocked? Bad as it was, the affair at the bank did not seem half so desperate as the quarrel with Lilian. I bowed my head meekly to Mr. Bristlebach’s charge. I was innocent, and it did not make much difference to me what the president said. Under the shadow as I was of a heavier woe than this, it really did not seem worth while to defend myself.
“I say you are a defaulter, Mr. Glasswood,” repeated the president, more severely than before.
“No, sir, I am not,” I answered, very mildly.
“Have you the effrontery to deny the charge?”
“Yes, sir, I have.”
“You have robbed the bank of twelve hundred dollars, at least; and how much more I don’t know.”
“No, sir; I have not robbed the bank of twelve hundred dollars; nor of even a single cent.”
“I am surprised that you should have the hardihood to deny the charge. Shall I call on your uncle, who is one of your bondsmen?”