"Drop it--quick."
Some old ancestral instinct in the bank cashier rose out of his panic
to destroy him. He wanted to lie down quietly in a faint. But his mind
asserted its mastery over the weakling body. In spite of his terror, of
his flaccid will, he had to keep the faith. He was guardian of the bank
funds. At all costs he must protect them.
His forearm came up with a jerk. Two shots rang out almost together. The
cashier sagged back against the wall and slowly slid to the floor.
* * * * *
The guests of Mrs. Selfridge danced well into the small hours. The
California champagne that Wally had brought in stimulated a gayety that
was balm to his wife's soul. She wanted her dinner-dance to be smart, to
have the atmosphere she had found in the New York cabarets. If everybody
talked at once, she felt they were having a good time. If nobody
listened to anybody else, it proved that the affair was a screaming
success.
Mrs. Wally was satisfied as she bade her guests good-bye and saw them
pass into the heavy snow that was again falling. They all assured her
that there had not been so hilarious a party in Kusiak. One old-timer, a
trifle lit up by reason of too much hospitality, phrased his enjoyment a
little awkwardly.
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