The young man turned on his heel and went into the hotel. John walked to his own much more modest inn, and retired for the night. He did not sleep well. All night long, phantom telegraph-messengers were rapping at the door, and he started up every now and then to receive cablegrams which faded away as he awoke. Shortly after breakfast he went to the telegraph-office, but found that nothing had arrived for him.
'I am afraid,' said the operator, 'that nothing will come on before noon.'
'Before noon!' echoed John. 'Why?'
'The wires are down in some places in the East, and messages are delayed a good deal. Perhaps you noticed the lack of Eastern news in the morning papers? Very little news came from the East last night.' Seeing John's look of anxious interest, the operator continued: 'Does the despatch you expect pertain to money matters?'
'Yes, it does.'
'Do they know you at the bank?'
'No, I don't think they do.'
'Then, if I were you, I would go up to the bank and be identified, so that, if it is a matter of minutes, no unnecessary time may be lost. You had better tell them you expect a money-order by cable, and, although such orders are paid without any identification at the bank, yet they take every precaution to see that it does not get into the hands of the wrong man.'
'Thank you,' said Kenyon. 'I am much obliged to you for your suggestion. I will act upon it.'
And as soon as the bank opened, John Kenyon presented himself to the cashier.