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Strumley, as umpire, hearkened to its clamor. "Bettina!" he called, as that young lady came calmly abreast of the car, "wait a moment. I must speak with you." She started with a half-frightened exclamation; but met his look, at first defiantly, scornfully, then hesitatingly, faltering as she tried to take another step onward. "Bettina!" Mr.
Proctor that he held an option I think that was the word from Haynes, Forster & Company on thousands and thousands of acres of timber land in Arkansas. He said it would expire to-day at two o'clock, but that he was going to buy the land for cash 'spot cash' he said was what they demanded." Mr. Strumley smiled ruefully. "And I guess it will be some of my 'spot cash," he ruminated.
Mr. Strumley rose also. Like the banker's voice, he, too, was trembling. "But, sir " he commenced to expostulate. "Go!" thundered the father of Bettina. Dazed, confused by the suddenness of the blast, Paul groped his way through the bank to the refuge of his car. Mechanically he put one hand on the lever and glanced ahead for obstacles.
And the by-play of yours in returning the money you did not really need, though it has completely deceived him, has in my eyes only added odium to your treachery. I trust that I have made it quite clear that in the future we can meet only as strangers. Mr. Strumley let the letter slip unnoticed through his palsied fingers. He sat down with heavy stupefaction.
Strumley, after a hurried stop-over at the office of his astounded charge d'affaires, reached the Commercial Bank before the messenger boys. While waiting in the balm of the spring morning for the doors to open he circumnavigated the block nine times he counted them. Coming in on the last tack he sighted the portly form of the banker careening with dignified speed around the corner.
So this was the sud-spray of his beautiful bubble? It was incomprehensible! Bettina! Bettina! Oh, how could she? Where was her faith? No small voice answered from within the depths of his breast; and Mr. Strumley got clumsily to his feet. He was painfully conscious that he must do something think something. But what was he to do? What was he to think? Could he ever make her understand?
Make her believe? At least he could go and try. Mr. Strumley finished his toilet nervously; and repaired to the home of Bettina, to cast his hope on the waters of her faith and charity. The butler courteously informed him that she was "not in." But Mr. Stokes was in the library. Would Mr. Strumley like to see him? Mr. Strumley thought not. It was a bad night for Paul.
In front of that institution he had the good fortune to meet the town miser, who seldom strayed far from the portals behind which reposed his hoard. Mr. Strumley halted to liberally wish the local celebrity an abundance of good health and many days of prosperity.
"Paul," Bettina broke in upon his meditations, a little note of hopeful pleading in her voice, "it might not be too late for you to to reform?" Mr. Strumley aroused himself with difficulty, and looked into her bewitching face before replying. Then: "Maybe you are right," he mused; "at any rate I have an idea."
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