“Well, I guess we’ll have to let it go, old man.” The president was pressing the buzzer for his secretary and gently bidding her: “Show Mr. Holt out, please.”
From the door John desperately tried to add: “You will find my car sunk—”
The door had closed behind him. The president had not listened.
The president gave orders that never, for any reason, was John Holt to be admitted to his office again. He telephoned to the bonding company that John Holt had now gone crazy; that they would save trouble by refusing to admit him.
John did not try to see them. He went to the county jail. He entered the keeper’s office and said quietly: “I have stolen a lot of money, but I can’t prove it. Will you put me in jail?”
The keeper shouted: “Get out of here! You hoboes always spring that when you want a good warm lodging for the winter! Why the devil don’t you go to work with a shovel in the sand pits? They’re paying two-seventy-five a day.”
“Yes, sir,” said John timorously. “Where are they?”
[THE STORY VINTON HEARD AT MALLORIE]
By KATHARINE PRESCOTT MOSELEY
From Scribner’s Magazine