But-- The dreadful "but" came back again and
again to torment him.
All that day he went about in an alternate state of dread and hope.
Hope that the missing four hundred might be found, dread of--many
possibilities. Twice he stopped at the bank to ask Captain Sam
concerning it. The second time the captain was a trifle impatient.
"Gracious king, Jed," he snapped. "What's the matter with you?
'Tain't a million. This institution'll probably keep afloat even
if it never turns up. And 'twill turn up sooner or later; it's
bound to. There's a chance that I left it at old Sage's. Soon's
the old cuss gets back and I can catch him by telephone I'll find
out. Meanwhile I ain't worryin' and I don't know why you should.
The main thing is not to let anybody know anything's missin'. Once
let the news get out 'twill grow to a hundred thousand afore night.
There'll be a run on us if Gab Bearse or Melissa Busteed get goin'
with their throttles open. So don't you whisper a word to anybody,
Jed. We'll find it pretty soon."
And Jed did not whisper a word. But he anxiously watched the
inmates of the little house, watched Charles' face when he came
home after working hours, watched the face of his sister as she
went forth on a marketing expedition, even scrutinized Babbie's
laughing countenance as she came dancing into the shop, swinging
Petunia by one arm.
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