I
thought you should know. As for Junior Doane, I'm frank to admit I'm
awfully keen about him. But that isn't why I came here. I remember
how close you and your father used to be. I--I thought perhaps you'd
thank me, if--if----"
"What you mean is that because I have beaten Doane out for stroke,
his father may be sore and not promote my father at the bank."
"There's no 'may' about it. Mr. Doane will be sore. He'll be sore at
Junior, of course. But he'll be sore secretly at you, and where
there is a question of choice of cashier between _your_ father and
another man--even though the other man has not been so long in the
bank--how do you think his mind will work; I mean, if you lose? Of
course, if you can win, then I am sure everything will be all right.
You must----"
"If I can win! What difference would that----" He stopped suddenly.
"I've caught what you mean." He laughed bitterly. "Parental jealousy.
All right! All right!"
"Jim, I don't want you----"
"Don't bother. I've heard all I can stand, Jane. Thank you." He
lurched out of the car and hurried away.
She called him. No answer. Waiting a moment, the girl sighed,
touched the self-starter and drove away.
Deacon had no idea of any lapse of time between the departure of the
car and himself in his cot prepared for sleep--with, however, no
idea that sleep would come.
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