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Updated: June 12, 2025
He's trying to collect what he has never invested. And he can't do it, mister! No, sir, he can't!" The drummer was a young man. He asked a natural question. "Isn't the girl willing to be an old man's darling?" "You might go over to Britt's bank and ask her," suggested Mr. Files, crisply. "She's bookkeeper there. But you'd better not let that young fellow that's cashier overhear you."
I don't want that man talking all the way up here with old Files's gabby hostler, or with anybody else I send from the village." Vaniman, even though he tried to make Britt's reasons for the request seem convincing, could not help feeling that the financier's natural secretiveness in matters of personal business was stretched somewhat in this instance.
He took down his coat and hat and when he left the room they heard him go into Tasper Britt's office across the corridor. The stricken lovers faced each other, appalled, mystified, questioning with the looks they exchanged. "Frank," the girl wailed, "you know I haven't " "I know you have been faithful and careful, in every stroke of your pen, dear. Whatever it is, it's not your fault."
In the meantime, also, Tasper Britt and a hired girl had become fixtures in the Harnden home and the hired girl was quite in love with Vona and in entire sympathy with her stand; the girl brought to Vona's room the tidbits of all the meals and offered to put tacks in Britt's doughnuts if that would help matters any. Vona was entirely serene in her companionship with her father and her mother.
Britt's vision was sharpened by such jealous venom that he would have misconstrued even innocent familiarity. He had been struggling with his passion ever since Vaniman had appeared, escorting the girl in from the night where the two had been alone together.
And at that moment, coming down from the heavens, so it seemed, a dead man had appeared to him. Britt's recent experience had rendered him incapable of surveying the thing from a normal viewpoint.
In this hour of depression, as in many others, her mind went out towards Morton Serviss. Britt's mention of the young scientist's name seemed to bring him very near, and she wondered again for the hundredth time whether he had entirely forgotten her or not. Would he call, now that he was informed of her presence in the city?
You have taken Britt's word about her, and you've listened to my story, but you must see her yourself and talk with her alone, so that she will be free to tell you just how she feels." "No. I am going to bed and try to forget the whole disconcerting group." "That's the way with you scientists.
Serviss waited for his reply in such suspense that his hands clutched his chair. Britt's face lost its gleam. "I'm afraid she has or at least she feels herself 'sealed to him' by her 'controls." Serviss rose and took a turn about the room as Britt went on.
"You'd better take Britt's trail and return to the mountains," he said, kindly. "This is a bad climate for you." "My work is here," he replied, curtly. "I have no fear," and so they parted. Weissmann was sitting in silent meditation in one corner of the dining-room when Serviss returned. "Well, master, what do you think of to-night's performance?"
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