lion dollars. Each night he tossed, sleepless, till the light stole
in through the shutters. At every corner on his way uptown he glanced
over his shoulder behind him. The front doorbell never rang that his
muscles did not become rigid and his heart almost stop beating. If he
went to a theatre or upon an excursion he passed the time wondering if
the next day he would still be a free man. In short, he paid in full in
physical misery and mental anxiety and wretchedness for the real moral
obliquity of his crime. The knowledge of this maddened him for what was
coming. Yet he realized that he had stolen half a million dollars, and
that justice demanded that he should be punished for it.

After leaving the bank John called up Prescott and learned that the plan
to adjust matters with the president had miscarried by reason of the
latter's absence. The two then met in a saloon, and here it was arranged
that John should call up the loan clerk and tell him that something
would be found to be wrong at the bank, but that nothing had better be
said about it until the following Monday morning, when the president
would return. The loan clerk, however, refused to talk with him and hung
up the receiver. John had nowhere to go, for he dared not return home,
and spent the afternoon until six o'clock riding in street cars and
sitting in saloons. At that hour he again communicated with Prescott,
who said that he had secured rooms for him and his wife at a certain
hotel, where they might stay until matters could be fixed up. John
arranged to meet his wife at Forty-second Street with Prescott and
conduct her to the hotel. As Fate decreed, the loan clerk came out of
the subway at precisely the same time, saw them together and followed
them. Meantime a hurry call had been sent for the president, who had
returned to the city. John, fully aware that the end had come, went to
bed at the hotel, and, for the first time since the day he had taken the
bonds two years before, slept soundly. At three the next morning there
came a knock at the door. His wife awakened him and John opened it. As
he did so a policeman forced his way in, and the loan clerk, who stood
in the corridor just behind him, exclaimed theatrically, "Officer, there
is your man!"

John is now in prison, serving out the sentence which the court believed
it necessary to inflict upon him as a warning to others. Prescott is
also serving a term at hard labor--a sentence somewhat longer than