ne way--and telling her in
so many words that everything would be all right for her father when
the investigating committee should come to overhaul the books and the
securities.

When I got up to go, she went to the front steps with me, and at the
last yearning minute a warm tear had splashed on the back of my hand.
At that I kissed her and told her not to worry another minute. And
this brings me back to that other evening just twenty-four hours later;
I in the bank, with the accusing account books spread out under the
electric light on the high desk, and old John Runnels, looking never a
whit less the good-natured, easy-going town marshal in his
brass-buttoned uniform and gilt-banded cap, stumbling over the
threshold as he let himself in at the side door which had been left on
the latch.

I had started, half-guiltily, I suppose, when the door opened; and
Runnels, who had known me and my people ever since my father had moved
in from the farm to give us children the advantage of the town school,
shook his grizzled head sorrowfully.

"I'd ruther take a lickin' than to say it, but I reckon you'll have to
come along with me, Bertie," he began soberly, laying a big-knuckled
hand on my shoulder. "It all came out in the meetin' to-day, and the
d'rectors 're sayin' that you hadn't ort to be allowed to run loose any
longer."

The high desk stool was where I could grab at it, and it saved me from
tumbling over backward.

"Go with you?" I gasped. "You mean to--to _jail_?"

Runnels nodded. "Jest for to-night. I reckon you'll be bailed, come
mornin'--if that blamed security comp'ny that's on your bond don't kick
up too big a fight about it."

"Hold on--wait a minute," I begged. "There is nothing criminal against
me, Uncle John. Mr. Geddis will tell you that. I----"

The big hand slipped from my shoulder and became a cautionary signal to
flag me down.

"You mustn't tell me nothin' about it, Bertie; I don't want to have to
take the stand and testify against your father's boy. Besides, it
ain't no kind o' use. You done it yourself when you was up at Abel
Geddis's house las' night. Two of the d'rectors, Tom Fitch and old man
Withers, was settin' behind the window curtains in the front room
whilst you was talkin' to Miss Agathy on the porch. You know, better'n
I do, what they heard you say."

For a second the familiar interior of the bank went black for me. I
was young in those days; much too young to know that