Part 15 (2/2)

He went directly to the bank and admitted himself with his keys.

President Britt came from the back room, with yawns that matched those of the hostler.

”What time did Barnes say he'd be down here from the tavern in the morning?”

”Mr. Barnes did not come on that train, sir.”

”Well, I'll be--” rapped Britt, snapping shut his jaws.

”But I haven't minded the trip--I really enjoyed the ride,” insisted the messenger.

”Don't tell that to Barnes when he shows up to-night on Ike Jones's stage,” commanded Britt. ”I propose to have a few words to say about what it means in the country when a city fathead changes his mind about the train he'll take.” He was looking past the cas.h.i.+er while he talked.

He turned away and picked up his hat and coat from a chair. ”I'll be going along to my house, I reckon. You'd better catch a cat-nap on the cot. I found it comfortable. I've slept every minute since you've been gone.”

Then Britt hurried out, locking the door behind him.

CHAPTER XII

SOMETHING TO BE EXPLAINED

By noon that day, in the lulls between customers at the wicket, Vaniman had had a succession of run-ins with the demon of drowsiness--a particularly mischievous elf, sometimes, in business hours. Whenever he caught himself snapping back into wakefulness he found Vona's twinkle of amus.e.m.e.nt waiting for him.

Once she pointed to the big figures on the day-by-day calendar on the wall. The date was February 21st. ”Console yourself, Frank, dear,” she advised, teasing him. ”The bank will be closed to-morrow and you can make Was.h.i.+ngton's Birthday your sleep day! But I do hope you can stay awake at our play this evening.”

”The man who invented sleep as a blessing didn't take into account city brokers who change their minds about trains,” he returned. ”I hope old Ike Jones will sing that 'Ring, ting! Foo loo larry, lo day' song of his all the way coming up from Levant. It'll be about the sort of punishment that Behind-time Barnes deserves.”

A few minutes later the cas.h.i.+er was jumped out of another incipient nap by the clamor of bells. The two horses that whisked past, pulling a double-seated sleigh, were belted with bells. A big man with a lambrequin mustache was filling the rear seat measurably well. Folks recognized the team as a ”let-hitch” from Levant.

”Mr. Barnes comes late, but he comes in style and with all his bells,”

Vona suggested.

The equipage swung up beside the tavern porch and the big man threw off the robes and stamped in, leaving the driver to take the horses to the stable.

Landlord Files had furnished an accompaniment for the clangor of the bells; he was pounding his dinner gong.

The new arrival had a foghorn voice and used it in hearty volume in telling Mr. Files that his music was all right and mighty timely! ”And that alligator seems to be calling for his grub, too,” he remarked, on his way to hang up his coat. ”But he doesn't look any hungrier than I feel.”

”Room?” inquired the landlord, hopefully, swinging the register book and pulling a pen out of a withered potato.

”No room! Just dinner. I expect to be out of here by night.”

Mr. Files stabbed the potato with a vicious pen thrust. He knew food capacity when he viewed it; there would be some profit from a lodging, but none from a two-s.h.i.+lling meal served to a man who had compared himself with that open-mouthed saurian.

But the guest grabbed the penstock while it was still vibrating. He wrote across the book, with great flourishes: ”Fremont Starr. State Bank Examiner. February 21st.”

”A matter of record, landlord! Show's I'm here. Tells the world I was here on date noted. Never can tell when the law will call for records.

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