“Get me that bag of bullion from the vault, Jenkins,” said he, tearing the end off the yellow envelope, “the two bars of gold from Colonel Billings, of Tucson, Arizona.”
“Very well, sir.”
Jenkins started. The cashier read the telegram at a glance. Not a line in his face quivered.
“Oh, Jenkins!” he called.
The clerk came back.
“Instead of getting the bullion,” said the cashier, in a low voice, “bring the bank policeman.”
Jenkins nodded and started of again, this time in a different direction.
“Here is the receipt, sir,” said the girl.
“Ah,” smiled the cashier, getting up and opening a wicket. “It will take some little time to get the bullion, Mr. McGlory, and you had better step into my private room and wait. Keep the receipt until you receive the gold. That is only business, you know.”
He led the girl across the open space in front of his desk, pushed ajar a door, and waved the girl into the private room; then, returning to his chair, he waited.