Stefan hesitated for a second. So much was at stake! His slow mind must have time to weigh the proposal. As he noted the earnestness and assurance of Skeemersky's face, belief in this shrewd friend decided. He drew out the pack and laid it on the desk before Skeemersky, whose long fingers closed over it at once.
"You have done well, Stefan Broda, your money is as safe with me as if it was in Mt. Vavel," he declared.
Stefan felt that he had done well. The phrase "as safe as Mt. Vavel" lingered in his mind. It helped him be patient in the long weeks in the factory where he worked during the winter; it consoled him during the dull days while he waited for the open springtime when he planned to send for Agatha. When he heard of others losing their small savings in various ways he congratulated himself on the security of his own, "as safe as Vavel," he would repeat.
One sunny morning in March, just as he decided to stop on his way from work to withdraw the three hundred dollars for Agatha's expenses, there came to him a neighbor, in great excitement. Peter's face was red, his eyes startling and his voice hoarse.
"That—that robber, that scoundrel!" he stuttered. "That Skeemersky. He has gone, gone, do you hear? He has taken it all, all the money in his cursed bank."
Stefan could not believe his ears. Skeemersky gone, and the money, too! "As safe as Vavel!" he had said. He stared for a moment and then broke out, weeping for the first time since his mother's death, cursing the smooth trickster with hearty Polish curses.
"May the thunder-bolt strike him!" he cried. "I will lay hands on him. I will choke that money out of his black soul. Come, we will go!"
They rushed out, boiling with rage, only to find a crowd of other dupes before the shabby little office in the side-alley. The tightly closed door and the blank windows told the story more clearly than any words. Skeemersky had gone—the bank was no more!
Despair took strong hold of Stefan. For two days he roamed the streets, not eating nor drinking, sleepless. He saw no further, no hope—all was blackness and desolation. When he came back to the boarding house on the third day he found a letter from Agatha. He read it with tears and intolerable anguish and he passionately kissed the final sentence: "Every bit of me is yours and I shall never change." This tender faith was balm to his anguish.