The Argosy, Vol. 84 No. 2 — page 105: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

THE GILDED TRAP. heard him declare there was a check. for him to offer replacing cash would be equivalent to acknowledging that there had been no check. The clock struck eleven. Ages later it struck twelve. One came—two—three. Birds of the air who toiled not nor spun nor worried over lost checks began to twitter under the eaves. That sickly eray came, which, in a great city, marks the ending of night’s brightness and the beginning of another day. It had come—the day of disaster. had never entertained a superstition. He Yet he could not help recalling that it was. Triday, the day of ill-luck. Soon he rose, tried to. bathe some of the ache from his temples, dressed slowly, but with almost spiteful disregard of the results in his appearance. It would be hours yet before breakfast would be ready, He sat down to wait. It occurred to him that he might go out and get a morning paper at the cor- ner. He didn’t want a morning paper— didn’t want anything— He awoke with a start, a cry upon his lips. He had dreamed that a policeman had seized him by the collar, handcuffed him. All the other bookkeepers and clerks at the bank had stood by and stared at him. Wheelock had pointed a plump, well-manicured finger that came nearer and nearer and pressed on his forehead and felled him and crushed him, while his ears rang with the word: “Thief! Thief! Thief!” “T’m not—I’m not,” he was shrieking. He was sure he had shrieked. He won- dered if he had been overheard. It was seven o’clock. All the noises of the city were in full blast. He hurried down to breakfast. He drank four cups of the chickory mixture Mrs. Lundrom called coffee. He could eat nothing. He tried to walk down-town. He was too tired, too weak. He reflected that the eight cents remaining could not get him out of danger, could not bring him help in danger. He might as well ride. The elevated road would get him down to 287 the bank an hour too suspiciously soon. He boarded a surface car. Two blocks from the bank he pondered whether he should go on or ‘try flight. He had taken a transfer. The transfer would take him to either one of two rivers or Battery Place. In fact, the three pen- nies still in his pocket would give him @ choice of either of the rivers. He could not bring himself to suicide. And flight—the suspense of it would kill him. Better the worst than the eternal fear of it. He must know. Slowly he walked the two blocks. Her- man had opened up, was standing in the door. He nodded to Evans. Bruce de- cided not to ask if the check had been found. Herman would tell him if it had. Everything was locked up yet. Mer- cer generally had charge of the unlocking of the vaults and the safe. not even get his books. He sat down at his desk. “Gee! man, you’re early.”’ Mercer was the next to arrive. “ You must have been feeling good this—but, great Scott! You don’t look it. What’s the trouble?” ‘IT don’t feel well,’ Bruce responded in a tone that corroborated the words. 4 | Sh After all, he might as well tell Mercer. Such news was for the head-bookkeeper first of all. ‘* Adams and I couldn’t find one check. It was for twelve hundred dollars.” ‘Phew!’ Mercer seemed taken aback, yet nothing like as worried as the occasion warranted. It flashed upon Bruce that the head-bookkeeper had undoubtedly known of the scheme, if he had not helped to carry it out. ‘“ How do you know it was one check?” Mercer inquired then. ‘It was one I had cashed sieel? when I was in Meyer’s place—Mr. Wheelock gave it to me to cash before I went in. I put it on the file and—”’ “Oh, it was Wheelock’s check?” Mer- cer broke in. “Yes,” Bruce said. ‘‘ Adams and I hunted—” COMICLOOOKS Bruce could. (C@