said the boy’s face became a mask of terror, realizing as he did what would happen if she had screamed. He stood still a minute, too frightened to move, and then he turned and ran for dear life down the street. Now suppose, Mr. Stewart, that woman had been easily frightened—you’d have seen in the papers that same day the report of another ‘attack.’ ”
“Yes—yes—I know it’s hard for you, too. But we’re sitting on a keg of dynamite and none of us can tell when some fool’s liable to set it off. We can only hope for the best,” Mr. Stewart ended piously.
Jean did not know that after he had left the bank, having forgotten the business matter which had brought him there, so engrossed had he become in his conversation that a little group of men had gone to the cashier’s desk and demanded that Mr. Stewart tell them what Jean had said. This Mr. Stewart did not do—he did not know how Jean’s words and thoughts might be taken. …