MISFORTUNE MEDDLES
Shortly before the supper hour, Britt and Starr came into the bank;
they wore their overcoats and hats, and were on their way to the tavern,
evidently.
“How are you making it, Frank?” the president inquired, with solicitude.
A sympathetic observer would have found a suggestion of captives, caged
and hopeless, in the demeanor of the cashier and the bookkeeper behind
the grille.
Vaniman peered through the lattice into the gloom where the callers
stood and shook his head. “I'm not making it well at all, sir.”
“But you must have some idea of what the trouble is.”
“There's trouble, all right, Mr. Britt--plenty of it. There's no use
in my denying that. But I'm not far enough along to give any sensible
explanation.”
The president showed real anxiety. “What do you say for a guess?”
“If you are asking me only for a guess, I should say that the ghost of
Jim the Penman has been amusing himself with these books,” replied the
cashier; he was bitter; he was showing the effects of worry that was
aggravated by lack of sleep.
“Aha! Plainly not far enough along for a sensible explanation,” rumbled
Examiner Starr.
“A knave is usually ready with a good story when he has been taken by
surprise. Honesty isn't as handy with the tongue. I can only say that
something--I don't say somebody--has put these books into a devil of a
mess, and I'm doing my best to straighten them.”
“I wish you luck,” affirmed Starr. “I've been talking with your
president and he says everything good about your faithfulness, and about
how you have been doing guard duty in the bank of late. Perhaps you're a
sleepwalker, Vaniman,” he added, with heavy humor.
“I feel like one now,” retorted the cashier. “I was awake all last
night.”
“Ah! Doing what?” asked the examiner, politely, but without interest.
The question hinted that in the talk in Britt's office the president had
refrained from mention of Barnes, the broker. Vaniman decided instantly
to respect Britt's reticence; the president had shown much caution
the night before, even in regard to Squire Hexter. “Oh, merely running
around on a little business of my own, Mr. Starr.”
Britt did not assist by any reference to his own share in the business.
“We may as well start along toward the tavern, Starr.” The president
took two steps toward the grille and addressed Vona. “I'm going to take
Mr. Starr to the show this evening. I want him to see what smart girls
we have in Egypt.”
Vona did not reply. She turned to Vaniman with the air of one who has
suddenly been reminded of something forgotten in the stress of affairs.
But before she had an opportunity to speak there was a tramping of hasty
feet in the corridor and her father came in through the door that
had been left ajar by Britt. “Good evening, all!” hailed Mr. Harnden,
cheerily. “But, see here, Vona, my dear girl, we have been waiting
supper a whole half hour. You've got scant time to eat and get on your
stage togs.”
“This has been a pretty busy day in the bank, Harnden,” explained Britt.
“Meet Mr. Starr, the bank examiner!”
“Oh, hullo, Starr!” cried Mr. Harnden, shoving out a friendly hand.
“Heard you were in town. I know Starr,” he told Britt. “I know everybody
in the state worth knowing. I told you so.”
Mr. Starr was not effusive; there was a hint of sarcasm in his inquiry
as to how the invention business was coming along.
“Fine and flourishing!” announced Harnden, radiantly. Then he blurted
some news which seemed to embarrass Britt very much; the news also
provoked intense interest in Vaniman and the daughter. “All I've ever
needed is backing, Starr. Now I've got it!” He clapped his hand on the
banker's shoulder. “Here's my backer--good as a certified check. Hey,
Tasper?”
“I'm--I'm always ready to help develop local talent,” Britt admitted,
stammering, turning his back on the faces at the grille. “Starr, we'd
better get along toward the tavern. I've had some poor luck with Files
when he's off his schedule time!”
“The new combination of Harnden and Britt will make 'em sit up and take
notice,” persisted the inventor. Forgetting Vona, desiring to impress a
skeptic from the outside world, he followed Starr and the banker.
Vaniman and the girl listened to the optimist's fervid declarations till
the slam of the outside door shut them off.
“That sounds like an interesting investment, Vona,” was the cashier's
dry comment. “Mr. Britt seems to be swinging that watering pot of his
new generosity around in pretty reckless fashion. I wonder what he'll do
next!”
“Frank, I'm afraid!” She spoke in a whisper, staring hard at him. “No,
no! Not what you think! I am not afraid because he is buying my father.
If Mr. Britt thinks I can be included in that bargain he is wiser
in making his money than he is in spending it. But there's something
dreadful at work against us!” She had her hand on the page of an open
ledger.
“The books can be straightened,” he insisted. “I can do it. I'll do it,
if I have to call in every depositor's pass book.” He pointed to the
vault. He was keeping the doors open till his work was done. “As long as
the money is there, every cent of it, the final checking will show for
itself. And the money will be there! I'm answering for that much! I
propose to stay with it till that Barnes shows up.”
“I remember now that you told me he would come by the stage to-day.”
“So Britt gave me to understand, when I reported that he didn't come on
the night train.”
“But I looked out of the window a little while ago--there was no
passenger with Jones.”
“Has the stage come?” He glanced at the clock and blinked at the girl.
“Well, I guess those books had me hypnotized!”
“Small wonder,” she said, bitterly. “I tell you I'm afraid, Frank!
There's something we don't see through!”
“I don't dare to waste any more time wondering what the trouble is,
Vona. I must get on to the job.”
“Both of us must.”
“It's time for you to be going home.”
“I'm going to stay here.”
“But, dear girl, there's the play! You have the leading part!”
“The words will stick in my throat and tears will blind me when I think
of you working here alone. Frank, I insist! I will not leave you. They
must postpone the play.”
He went to her and laid her hands, one upon the other, between his
caressing palms. “The folks will be there--they are expecting the
play--you must not disappoint them. It's as much your duty to go to the
hall as it is mine to stay here with the books. And another thing! Think
of the stories that will be set going, with the bank examiner here, if
it's given out that the play had to be postponed because you couldn't
leave the books. Such a report might start a run on the bank. Folks
would be sure to think there's trouble here. You must go, Vona. It's for
the sake of both of us.”
He went and brought her coat and hat.
“I can't go through with the play,” she wailed.
“We've got to use all the grit that's in us--whatever it is we're up
against. Come! Hold out your arms!” He assisted her with the coat.
He drew her toward the door with his arm about her. “We'll make a good
long day of it to-morrow--a holiday. George Washington never told a lie.
Perhaps those books will come to themselves in the morning and realize
what day it is and will stop lying! Now be brave!”
The kiss he gave her was long and tender; she clung to him. He released
her, but she turned in the corridor and hurried back to him. “I
shouldn't feel as I do--worried sick about you, Frank! The books must
come out right, because both of us have been careful and honest.”
“Exactly! The thing will prove itself in the end. The money in that
vault will talk for us! I'll do a little talking, myself, when--But no
matter now!”
“You have suspicions! I know you have!”
“Naturally, not believing as much in ghosts or demons as I may have
intimated to Starr.”
She looked apprehensively over her shoulder into the dark corners of the
corridor. Then she drew his face down close to hers. “And it's hard to
believe in the reformation of demons,” she whispered.
“I'm doing a whole lot of thinking, little girl. But I don't want
to talk now. Do your best at the play. Hide your troubles behind
smiles--that's real fighting! And we'll see what to-morrow will do for
us.”
“Yes, to-morrow!” She ran away, but again she returned. “And nothing
can happen to you here, in a quiet town like this, can it, Frank?” she
asked.
“Nothing but what can be taken care of with that shotgun in the back
room! But don't look frightened, precious girl! There's nothing--”
But even Vaniman was startled, the next moment. The girl leaped into his
embrace and cowered. Something was clattering against a window of
the bank. But only the mild face of Squire Hexter was framed in the
lamplight cast on the window. He called, when he got a peep at the
cashier, who came hastening back inside the grille: “Supper, boy!
Supper! Come along!”
Frank threw up the window. “I'll make what's left over from my lunch do
me, Squire. I'm tied up here with my work.”
“I'll allow the new Starr in our local sky to keep you away from
euchre,” the Squire grumbled, “but I swanny if I'll let your interest in
astronomy, all of a sudden, keep you away from the hot vittles you need.
You come along with me to the house.”
“Squire, I can't lock the vault yet awhile. I don't want to leave things
as they are. I must not.”
Vona had come to his side, she understood the nature of his anxiety. “I
am just starting for my house, Squire Hexter. I'm going to hurry back
with Frank's supper, so that he won't be bothered.”
“Bless your soul, sis, even Xoa will be perfectly satisfied with that
arrangement when I explain,” said the Squire, gallantly. “I'm tempted to
stay, myself, if Hebe is going to serve.” He backed away and did a grand
salaam, flourishing the cane whose taps on the window had startled the
lovers.
“You must not take the time, Vona,” protested the young man.
“I'll bring the supper when I'm on my way to the hall. Not another word!
If I'm to lose the best part of my audience from the hall to-night,
I can, at least, have that best part give me a compliment on my new
gown--and give me,” she went on, reassuring him by a brave little smile,
“a whole lot of courage by a dear kiss.”
She hurried away.
He was hard at work when she returned, carrying a wicker basket.
Again he protested because she was taking so much trouble, but she laid
aside her coat and insisted on arranging the food on a corner of the
table, a happy flush on her cheeks, giving him thanks with her eyes when
he praised her gown.
“I'm going to look in on you after the show,” she declared. “Father will
come with me.”
Vona remained with him until the wall clock warned her.
She asked him to wait a moment when he brought her wraps. She stood
before him in her gay garb, wistfully appealing. “Frank, I was intending
to have a little play of my own with you at the hall to-night. I was
going to look right past that Durgin boy, straight down into your eyes,
when I came to a certain place in the play. I was intending to let the
folks of Egypt know something, providing they all don't know it by now.
This is what I have to say, and now I'm saying it to the only audience I
care for:
“'Twere vain to tell thee all I feel,
Or say for thee I'd die.
Ah, well-a-day, the sweetest melody
Could never, never say one half my love for thee.”
Then, after a moment, she escaped from his ardent embrace.
“Remember that, dearest,” she called from the doorway.
“I'll remember it every time I start with a line of figures, you blessed
girl. And then how my pencil will go dancing up the column!”
After she had gone he pulled the curtain cords, raising the curtains so
that they covered the lower sashes; he did not care to be seen at his
work by the folks who were on their way to the hall.
Squire Hexter, escorting Xoa, took the trouble to step to the window and
tap lightly with his cane. He was hoping that the cashier would change
his mind and go to the hall. He waited after tapping but Vaniman did not
appear at the window. The Squire did not venture to tap again. “He must
be pretty well taken up with his work,” he suggested to Xoa when they
were on their way. “That's where we get the saying, 'Deaf as an adder.'”
Oblivious to all sounds, bent over his task, Vaniman gave to the
exasperating puzzle all the concentration he could muster.
The play that evening at Town Hall dragged after the fashion of amateur
shows. The management of the sets and the properties consumed much
time. There were mishaps. One of these accidents had to do with the
most ambitious scene of the piece, a real brook--the main feature of
the final, grand tableau when folks were trying to keep awake at eleven
o'clock. The brook came babbling down over rocks and was conveyed
off-stage by means of a V-shaped spout. There was much merriment when
the audience discovered that the brook could be heard running uphill
behind the scenes; two hobble-de-hoy boys were dipping the water with
pails from the washboiler at the end of the sluice and lugging it
upstairs, where they dumped it into the brook's fount. The brook's
peripatetic qualities were emphasized when both boys fell off the top of
the makeshift stairs and came down over the rocks, pails and all. Then
there was hilarity which fairly rocked the hall.
For some moments another sound--a sound which did not harmonize with the
laughter--was disregarded by the audience.
All at once the folks realized that a man was squalling
discordantly--his shrieks almost as shrill as a frightened porker's
squeals. Heads were snapped around. Eyes saw Dorsey, the municipal
watchman, almost the only man of the village of Egypt who was not of
the evening's audience in Town Hall. He was standing on a settee at
the extreme rear of the auditorium. He was swinging his arms wildly; as
wildly was he shouting. He noted that he had secured their attention.
“How in damnation can you laugh” he screamed. “The bank has been robbed
and the cashier murdered!”