"
He hurried off a moment later, affirming that he was late at the
bank already.
"Course the cashier's there and the rest of the help," he added,
"but it takes all hands and the cat to keep Lute from puttin' the
kindlin' in the safe and lightin' up the stove with ten dollar
bills. So long."
After he had gone Jed turned to his remaining visitor. His voice
shook a little as he spoke.
"You haven't told him!" he faltered, reproachfully. "You--you
haven't told him!"
She shook her head. "I couldn't--I couldn't," she declared.
"DON'T look at me like that. Please don't! I know it is wrong. I
feel like a criminal; I feel wicked. But," defiantly, "I should
feel more wicked if I had told him and my brother had lost the only
opportunity that might have come to him. He WILL make good, Mr.
Winslow. I KNOW he will. He will make them respect him and like
him. They can't help it. See!" she cried, her excitement and
agitation growing; "see how Mr. Reed, the bank president there at
home, the one who wrote that letter, see what he did for Charles!
He knows, too; he knows the whole story. I--I wrote to him. I
wrote that very night when you told me, Mr. Winslow. I explained
everything, I begged him--he is an old, old friend of our family--
to do this thing for our sakes. You see, it wasn't asking him to
lie, or to do anything wrong.
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