He moved at last, and as he went into the bank he jostled two persons who, sheltered by the cashier’s desk, were watching, as the Board had watched a few minutes before, the scene of excitement which the bank presented. The one was Betty, the other was Rodd, the cashier. It had occurred to Rodd that the girl would like to view a thing so unusual, and he had slipped out and fetched her. They faced about, startled by the contact. “Oh, it’s you!” said Betty.
“Yes,” drily. “What are you doing here, Betty?”
“I came to see the Lottery drawn,” she retorted, making a face at him. “Mr. Rodd fetched me. No one else remembered me.”
“Well, I should have thought that he—ain’t you wanted, Rodd?” There was a new tone in Arthur’s voice. “Mr. Clement seems to have his hands full.”
Rodd’s face reddened under the rebuke. For a moment he seemed about to answer, then he thought better of it. He left them and went to the counter.
“And what would you have thought?” Betty asked pertly, reverting to the sentence that he had not finished.
“Only that Rodd might be better employed—at his work. This is just the job he is fit for, giving out forms.”
“And Clement, too, I suppose? It is his job, too?”
“When he’s here to do it,” with a faint sneer. “That is not too often, Betty.”
“Well, more often of late, anyway. Do you know what Mr. Rodd says?”