" The widow had whitened under her rouge, but her eyes did not
falter in their direct gaze. "The signature is genuine. I drew
the check."
The two men exchanged glances. The bank president was the first to
break the short silence. "In that case there is nothing more to
be said," he remarked, and picking up the check handed it to Mrs.
Brewster. Without a glance at it, she folded the paper and placed
it inside her gold mesh bag.
"I must not take up any more of your time," she said. "I thank
you - both."
"Mrs. Brewster." Clymer spoke impulsively. "I'd like to shake hands
with you."
Coloring warmly, the widow slipped her small hand inside his, and
with a friendly bow to McDonald, she walked through the bank,
keeping up with Clymer's long strides as best she could. As they
crossed the sidewalk to the waiting limousine they ran almost into
the arms of Harry Kent, whose rapid gait did not suit the congested
condition of the "Wall Street" of Washington. "I tried to reach
you on the telephone this morning," exclaimed Mrs.
Pages:
224
225
226
227
228
229
230
231
232
233
234
235
236
237
238
239
240
241
242
243
244
245
246
247
248