The banker and the bear : $b The story of a corner in lardWebster, Henry Kitchell
General
The banker and the bear : $b The story of a corner in lard
Webster, Henry Kitchell
Bankers -- Fiction; Didactic fiction; Political fiction; Social problems -- Fiction
It would not have weighed heavily with a jury of his peers; to an
impartial mind it would hardly have been a defence at all, but in her
eyes it saved him.
Her very knowledge of the game he had played this score of years, the
knowledge that had enabled her to discover his contemplated treachery,
was what now furnished his justification. Being a mere spectator and
understanding his moves had hardened her, she knew, and had already
made an old woman of her. And, she argued, it was small wonder that he
who had played the game, had fought the battles, should have become
hard, and that the long straining of his eyes toward one object should
have blinded him to every other consideration. He was not himself, for
in this last campaign the fever was in his blood, and his going to
any length to win was as inevitable as his regret afterward would be
unavailing.
Mercifully blind to the pathetic weakness of the plea, and unconscious
of the confession of its weakness that lay in her much protesting, she
told herself that it was not his fault.
He was making his last fight; this temptation that beguiled him would
be the last. If only she could save him from its consequences!
For a moment she entertained the notion of going to him, but she saw
that even if she could turn him it would be too late. Not even his
wonderful ingenuity could avert the ruin it had been exercised to
provoke. But perhaps there was yet time to warn John and to save the
bank.
Then in a second her resolve was taken.
She had on a thin house dress, and with the idea of putting on
something better suited for street wear in this summer evening, she
tugged impatiently at its fastenings, but her shaking fingers would not
obey her will. She dared not call her maid, for after what had happened
an hour before, the girl would be certain to protest against her going
out, and might tell her husband. She must go as she was. With a quick
motion she partly rearranged her disordered hair, and pinning on a hat,
any hat, and seizing her purse, she sped softly down the stairs, and
without being observed she reached the street. She hesitated for an
instant, then set out resolutely for the nearest elevated station.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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