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mi ! • » *» o o o o ABNER DANIEL By ... WILL N. HAR-EEN Author of "tOeslerfelt” Copyright, 1902, by HARPER. ® BROS.. Who Publish the Work in Book Form. All Rights Reserved • - w CHAPTER XVIII. HEN Miller reached his office about 10 o’clock the next mornltiR and opened the door, he noticed that Craig’s bank on the corner across the street was still closed. It was an unusual oc currence at that hour, and it riveted Miller’s attention. Few people were on the street, and none of them seemed to have noticed it. A bell was ringing for the prayer meeting which was be ing conducted by a traveling evangelist in the church in the ne^t block, and Miller saw the merchants and lawyers hurrying by on their way to worship. Miller stood in his front door and bow ed to them as they passed. Trabue hygtled out of his office, pulling the door to with a jerk. “Prayer meeting?” he asked, glanc ing at Miller. "No, not today,” answered Miller; “got some writing to do,” “That preacher’s a hummer,” said the old lawyer. “I’ve never seen his equal. He’d ’a’ made a brng up crim- *‘i ecc you unx is watchln’ Craig's door," ; he said. Inal lawyer. Why, they say old Joe. Murphy’s converted — got out of his bed at midnight and went to Tim Slo cum’s house to get ’im to pray for ’im. He’s denied thar was a God all his life till now. 1 say a preacher’s worth two : hundred to a town if it can do that sort of work.” “He’s certainly worth It to Slocum,” said Miller, with a smile. “If I’d been denying there was a God as long as he has, I’d pay more than that to get rid of the habit. Slocum’s able, and I think he ought to foot that preacher’s bill.” “You are a tough customer. Miller,” said Trabue, with a knowing laugh. “You’d better look out—he’s got an eye on you. He’ll call out yore name some o’ these days an’ ask us to pray fer you.” “1 was just wondering if there’s any thing wrong with Craig,” said Miller. “I see his door’s not open.” r “Oh, I reckon not," said the old law yer. “He’s been taking part in the meeting. He may have overslept.” j There was a grocery store near Mil ler’s office, and the proprietor came out on the sidewalk and joined the two men. His name was Barnett. He was a powerful man, who stood six feet five In his boots. He wore no coat, and his suspenders were soiled and knotted. “I see you uns is watchin’ Craig’s door,” he said. “I’ve had my eye on it ever since breakfast. I hardly know what to make of it I went thar to buy some New York exchange to pay for a bill o’ flour, but he wouldn’t let me in. I know he’s thar, for I seed Tm go in about an hour ago. I mighty nigh shook the door off’n the hinges. His clerk, that western fellow, Win- ship, has gone off to visit his folks, an’ I reckon maybe Craig’s got all the bookkeepin’ to do.” “Well, he oughtn't to keep his doors closed at this time of day,” remarked Miller. “A man who has other people’s money in his charge can’t be too care ful.” “He’s got some o’ mine,” said the grocer, “and Mary Ann Tarpley, my wife’s sister, put thar day before yesterday. Oh, 1 reckon nothin’s wrong, though I do remember I heerd some body say Craig bought cotton futures an’ sometimes got skeerd up a little about mcetin’ his obligations.” “I have never heard that,” said Ray burn Miller, raising his brows. “Well, I have, an’ I’ve heerd the same o’ WInship,” said the grocer, “but I never let It go no furder. I ain’t no hand to circulate ill reports agin a good member of the church.” Miller bit his Up, and an unpleasant thrill passed over him as Trabue walked on. “Twenty-five thousand,” he thought, is no small amount. It would tempt five men out of ten if they were inclined to go wrong and were in a tight” The grocer was looking at him stead ily. “You bank thar, don't you?” he asked. Miller nodded. “But I happen to have no money there right now. I made a deposit at the other bank yes terday.” 1 “Suspicious, heigh? Now, jest a lit tle, wasn’t you?” The grocer now j spoke with undisguised uneasiness. “Not at all,” replied the lawyer. “1 was doing some business for the other bank and felt that I ought to favor them by my cash deposits.” “You don’t think lhar’s anything the ; matter, do you?” asked the grocer, his ' face still hardening. “I think Craig is acting queerly— ; very queerly for a banker,” was Mil- j ier's slow reply. “He has always been i most particular to open up early and”— “Hello!” cried out a cheery voice, that of the middle aged proprietor of the Darley Flouring mills, emerging from Barnett’s store. “I see you fel lows have your eye on Craig’s front. If he was a drinking man, we might suspicion he’d been on a tear last night, wouldn’t we?” “It looks shaky to me,” retorted the grocer, growing more excited. “I’m goln’ over there an’ try that door again. A man ’at has my money can’t attract the attention Craig has an’ me say nothin’.” The miller pulled his little turf of gray beard and winked at Rayburn. “You’ve been scarin’ Barnett,” he said, with a tentative Inflection. “He’s easily rattled. By the way, now that I think of it, it does seem to me I heard some of the Methodists talkin’ about reproving Craig an’ Winship for spec ulatin’ In grain an’ cotton. I know they’ve been dabblin’ in it, for Craig always got my market reports. He’s been dealin’ with a bucket shop in At lanta.” “I’m going over there,” said Miller abruptly, and he hurried across in the wake of the big grocer. The miller fol lowed him. On the other side of the street several people were curiously watching the bank door, and when Barnett went to it and grasped the handle and began to shake it vigor- | ously they crossed over to him. “What’s wrong?” said a dealer in fruits, a short, thickset man with a florid face, but Barnett’s only reply was another furious shaking of the door. "Why, man, what’s got into you?” protested the fruit dealer in a rising tone of astonishment. “Do you intend to break that door down?” “I will if that skunk don’t open it an’ give me my money,” said Barnett, who was now red in the face and almost foaming at the mouth. “He’s back in thar, an’ he knows it’s past openin’ time. By gum, I know more’n I’m goln’ to tell right now!” This was followed by another rat tling of the door, and the grocer’s enor mous weight, like a battering ram, was thrown against the heavy walnut shut ter. “Open up, I say—open up in thar!” yelled the grocer in a voice hoarse with passion and suspense. A dozen men were now grouped around the doorway. Barnett released the handle and stood facing them. “Somethin’s rotten in Denmark,” he panted. “Believe me or not, fellows, I know a thing or two. This bank’s in a bad fix.” A thrill of horror shot through Miller. The words had the ring of conviction. Alan Bishop's money was in bad hands if it was there at all. Suddenly be saw a white, trembling hand fumbling with the lower part of the close drawn win dow shade as if some one were about to raise It, but the shade remained down, the Interior still obscured. It struck Miller as being a sudden im pulse, defeated by fear of violence. There was a pause. Then the storm broke again. About fifty men had as sembled, all wild to know what was w’rong. Miller elbowed his way to the door and stood on the step, slightly raised above the others, Barnett by bis side. “Let me speak to him,” he said pacifically. Barnett yielded doggedly, and Rayburn put his lips to the crack between the two folding doorts. “Mr. Craig!” he called out. “Mr. Craig”— There was no reply, but Rayburn heard the rustling of paper on the in side near the crack against which his ear was pressed, and then the edge of a sheet of writing paper was slowly shoved through. Rayburn grasped it, lifting it above a dozen outstretched hands. “Hold on!” he cried authoritatively. “I’ll read it.” The silence of the grave fell on the crowd as the young man began to read. “Friends and citizens,” the note ran. “Winship has absconded with every dollar in the vaults except about $200 in my small safe. He has been gone two days, I thought on a visit to his kinfolks. I have Just discovered the loss. I’m completely ruined and am now trying to make out a report of my condition. Have mercy on an old man.” Rayburn’s face was as white as that of a corpse. The paper dropped from his band and he stepped down into the crowd. He was himself no loser, but the Bishops had lost their all. How could he break the news to them? Pres ently he began to hope faintly that old Bishop might within the last week have drawn out at least part of the money, but that hope was soon discarded, for he remembered that the old man was waiting to invest the greater part of the deposit in some Shoal Creek cotton mill stock which had been promised him in a few weeks. No; the hope was groundless. Alan, his father, Mrs. Bishop and—Adele. Miller’s heart sank down into the very ooze of despair. All that he had done for Adele’s people and which had roused her deepest, tenderest gratitude was swept away. What would she think now? His train of thought was rudely bro ken by an oath from Barnett, who with the rage of a madman suddenly threw his shoulder against the door. There was a crash, a groan of bursting timber and breaking bolts, and the door flew open. For one instant Miller saw the ghastly face and cowering form of the old banker behind the wire grating, and thefl, with a scream of terror, Craig ran into a room in the rear and thence made his escape at a dcor opening on the side street. The mob filled the bank and did not dis cover Craig’s escape for a minute; then, with a howl of lyge, it surged back into the street. Craig was ahead of them, running toward the church, where prayer meeting was being held, the tails of his long frock coat flying behind him, Ips worn silk hat in his convulsive grasp. “Thar he goes!” yelled Barnett. And he led the mob after him, all running at the top of their speed without real izing why they were doing so. They gained on the fleeing banker, and Bar nett could almost touch him when they reached the church. With a cry of fear, like that of a wild animal brought to bay, Craig sprang up the steps and ran into the church, crying and groan ing for help. A dozen men and women and chil dren were kneeling at the altar to get the benefit of the prayers of the min isters and the congregation, but they stood up in alarm, some of them with wet faces. The mob checked itself at the door, but tin* greater part of it crowded into the two aisles, a motley human mass, many of them without coats or hats. The traveling evangelist seemed shock ed out of expression, but the pastor, Mr. Lapsley, who was an old Confed erate soldier and used to scenes of vio lence, stood calmly facing them. "Wliai’s all this mean?” he asked. “I came here for protection,” whined Craig, “to my own church and people. This mob wants to kill me—tear me limb from limb.” “But what’s wrong?” asked the preacher. “Winship,” panted Craig, his white head hanging down as he stood touch ing the altar railing—“Winship ’s ab sconded with all the money in my vault. These people want me to give up what I haven’t got. Oh, God knows I would refund every cent if I had It!” “You shall have our protection,” said the minister calmly. “They won’t vio- They gained on the fleeing banker. late the sacredness of the bouse of God by raising a row. You are safe here. Brother Craig. I’m sure all reasonable people will not blame you for the fault of another.” “1 believe he’s got my money,” cried out Barnett in a coarse, sullen voice, “'.nd the money of some o’ my women folks that’s helpless, and he’s got to turn it over! Oh, he’s got money hid aome’r’s. I’ll bet on that!” “The law is your only-recourse, Mr. Barnett,” said the preacher calmly. “Even now you are laying yourself lia ble to serious prosecution for threaten ing a man with bodily injury when you can’t prove he’s wilfully harmed you.” The words told on the mob, many of them being only small depositors, and Barnett found himself without open support. He was silent. Rayburn Mil ler, who had come up behind the mob and was now in the church, went to Craig’s side. Many thought he was proffering his legal services. “One word, Mr. Craig,” he said, touching the quivering arm of the banker. “Oh, you’re no loser,” said Craig, turning on him. “There was nothing to your credit” “I know that.” whispered Miller, “but as attorney for the Bishops I have a right to ask if their money la safe.” The eyes of the banker went to the ground. “It’s gone—every cent of It,” he said. “It was their money that tempted Win ship. He’d never seen such a large pile at once.” “You don’t mean”— But Miller felt the utter futility of the question on his tongue and turned away. Outside he met Jeff Dukes, one of the town mar shals, who had been running and was very red in the face and out of breath. “Is that mob in thar?” he asked. “Yes, and quiet now,” said Miller. “Let them alone. The important thing is to put the police on Winship’s track. Come back downtown.” “I’ll have to git the particulars from Craig fust,” said Dukes. “Are you loser?” “No, but some of my clients are, and I’m ready to stand any expense to catch the thief.” “Well, I’ll see you in a minute, and we’ll heat all the wires out of town. I’ll see you in a minute.” Farther down the street Miller met Dolly Barclay. She had come straight from her home, in an opposite direc tion from the bank, and had evidently not hoard the news. “I’m on my way to prayer meeting,” she smiled. “I’m getting good to please the old folks, but”— She noticed his pale face. “What is the matter? Has anything”— “Craig’s bank has failed,” Rayburn told her briefly. "He says Winship has absconded with all the cash in the vaults.” Dolly stared aghast. "And you— you’’— “I had no money there.” broke in Miller. “I was fortunate enough to es cape.” "But Alan—Mr. Bishop?” She was studying his face and pondering hia unwonted excitement. “Had they money there?” Miller did not answer, but she would not be put aside. “Tell me,” she urged; “tell me that” “If I do, it’s in absolute confidence,” he said, with professional firmness. “No one must know—iOt a soul—that they were depositors, for much de pends on it. If Wilson knew they were hard up, he might drive them to the wall. They were not only depositors, but they lose every cent they have— $25,000 in a lump.” He saw her catch her breath, and her lips moved mutely, as If repeating the words he had just spoken. “Poor Alan!” he heard her say. “Th ? s is too, too much after all he has gone through!” Miller touched his hat and started on, but she joined him, keeping by his side like a patient, pleading child. He marveled over her strength and won derful poise. “I am taking you out of your way. Miss Dolly,” he said gently, more gently than he had ever spoken to her before. “I only want to know if Alan has heard. Do—do tell me that” “No; he’s at home. I shall ride out as soon as I get the matter in the hands of the police.” She put out her slender, shapely hand and touched his arm. “Tell him,” she said in a low, uncer tain voice, “that it has broken my heart. Tell him I love him more than I ever did and that I shall stick to him always.” Miller turned and took off his hat, giving her his hand. “And I believe you will do it,” he said. “He’s a lucky dog, even If be has just struck the ceiling. I know him, and your message will soften the blow. But it’s awful—simply awful! I can’t now see bow they can possibly get from under it” “Well, tell him,” said Dolly, with a little, soundless sob in her throat, “tell him what I told you.” This story will be continued in next Friday’s issue. 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