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The next morning Hiram walked into the post-office and called to Abbie, through the square window, to open the door. Once inside he loosened his fur driving-coat, took out a long, black wallet, picked out a thin slip of paper and laid it on Abbie's desk. "I have been thinking over what I told you yesterday. There's a check drawn to your order for two hundred dollars.
"No, Neal, you never told me; but this afternoon while you we're out I was looking for Adrian's check-book; I was sure we paid Dorman's bill last April, and that I took the check over myself. I was going through the desk, and I got on your side, thinking I might have left the check-book there by mistake, and I ran into the very midst of those letters, before I knew what I was about.
It is a gray day in autumn. I am sitting at my desk, wondering how to begin the first chapter of this book about poetry. Outside the window a woman is contentedly kneeling on the upturned brown earth of her tulip-bed, patting lovingly with her trowel as she covers the bulbs for next spring's blossoming. Does she know Katharine Tynan's verses about "Planting Bulbs"? Probably not.
"No, mother. There's no poison like a blessing turned into a curse. This is the secret history of what made me such a disagreeable, morose girl. "Then came the opportunity that enabled me to glance at the book of my father's notes. Barbara's eyes made me lock the desk in haste and confusion. It was really and truly accident that I locked the book out instead of in.
"Sit down." said Mr. Flint. Austen sat down, with the corner of the desk between them, while Mr. Flint opened the boxes and began checking off the papers on the list. "How is your father this afternoon?" he asked, without looking up. "As well as can be expected," said Austen. "Of course nobody knew his condition but himself," Mr.
Suddenly she threw herself forward, calling on God to strike her dead, and fell quite weak and helpless, with her face on the master's desk, crying and sobbing as if her heart would break. The master lifted her gently, and waited for the paroxysm to pass.
Johnnie sat on the bench against the wall where newcomers applying for positions were placed. The man she was to see had not yet come to his desk, and she remained unnoticed and apparently forgotten for more than an hour. The offices were entered from the other side, yet a doorway close by Johnnie commanded a view of a room and desk.
"And we'll do our best to find him, too," added Tom. "I think the hotel ought to be responsible for this robbery," said Dick. "You didn't leave your key at the desk when you went out," cried the hotel clerk, struck by a sudden idea. "What of that?" asked Tom. "That makes the guest responsible." "What!" cried Tom, aghast. "We are responsible only when the key is left at the desk.
As he sat there, his clasped hands resting on his desk and his face hidden on them, all his life seemed to unfold itself before him; not in painful memories of the past only, but in terrified prevision of the black future. How dear his native town was to him! He had always loved it from his very babyhood.
There's no guard in this outer hall at night. The one inside is with the boy. Keep out of sight if any one passes." The men obeyed without a word and John Vaughan stepped quickly back into the Executive office, drew the short curtains across the window, turned the lights on full, examined his revolver, and sat down in careless attitude beside the President's desk.
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