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Pupkin read Memoirs of the Great Revolutionists and even thought of blowing up Henry Mullins with dynamite, you can appreciate his state of mind. He felt it in a sort of way, as soon as he knew her. Each time that he tried to talk to her about his home and his father and mother and found that something held him back, he realized more and more the kind of thing that stood between them.
But and this is where the emphasis lay in the matter of luxury for his only son, Peter, Pupkin senior was a Maritime Province man right to the core, with all the hardihood of the United Empire Loyalists ingrained in him. No luxury for that boy! No, sir!
He had forgotten, I say, about being a hero and he only knew that there was sixty thousand dollars in the vault of the bank below, and that he was paid eight hundred dollars a year to look after it. As Peter Pupkin stood there listening to the sounds in his stockinged feet, his faced showed grey as ashes in the light that fell through the window from the street.
So you see that by ten o'clock in the morning the whole affair was settling into the impenetrable mystery which it ever since remained. Not that there wasn't evidence enough. Apparently the robber ran up and down half the streets of Mariposa before he vanished. But the stories of Pupkin and Gillis were plain enough.
Pupkin, because they were all conducted on the same plan and rested on something the same reasons as above. Sometimes he would go down at night to the offices of the bank below his bedroom and bring up his bank revolver in order to make an end of himself with it. This, too, he could see headed up in the newspapers as: BRILLIANT BOY BANKER BLOWS OUT BRAINS.
Mallory Tompkins generally got the best of the merely logical side of the arguments, but Pupkin who was a tremendous Christian was much stronger in the things he had forgotten. So the discussions often lasted till far into the night, and Mr.
Why, I've known Pupkin at the Fireman's Ball lean against the wall in his dress suit and talk away to Jim Eliot, the druggist, without giving the faintest hint or indication that Eliot's note for twenty-seven dollars had been protested that very morning. Not a hint of it.
Pupkin walked down the stairs to the lower room, the one below the ground with the bank vault in it, with as fine a step as any of his ancestors showed on parade. And if he had known it, as he came down the stairway in the front of the vault room, there was a man crouched in the shadow of the passage way by the stairs at the back.
Only, as I say, Pupkin found that what he had mistaken for attraction was only respect. And there's no use worrying a woman that you respect about your crazes. It was from Mallory Tompkins that Pupkin learned all about the Mariposa people, because Pupkin came from away off somewhere down in the Maritime Provinces and didn't know a soul.
This, I say, and it is important to note it, was what they knew at half-past seven. Of course as each hour went past they learned more and more. At eight o'clock it was known that Pupkin was not dead, but dangerously wounded in the lungs. At eight-thirty it was known that he was not shot in the lungs, but that the ball had traversed the pit of his stomach.
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