nd get away;
anything; he must even lie; if he saved the boy it would be justifiable.
Why did not the cashier come, now that he was ready for him? Each minute
seemed an age, with the honor of Allis's brother hanging in the balance.
He would need money. He drew a check for a hundred dollars. A hasty
inspection showed that he still had a trifle more than this amount to
his credit. Why he took a hundred he hardly knew; fate seemed writing
the check. He had barely finished when the cashier appeared. At once
Mortimer spoke to him.

"I want leave of absence to-day, sir," he said, speaking hurriedly.

The cashier frowned in astonishment. "Impossible We are short-handed
with young Porter away."

"I'll be back in the morning," pleaded Mortimer. "My mother is very ill.
I've opened up, and Mr. Cass can manage, I'm sure, if you'll let me go.
I wouldn't ask it, but it's a matter of almost life and death." He had
nearly said of honor.

Unwillingly the cashier consented. It probably meant extra work for him;
he would certainly have to take a hand in the office routine. Theirs was
not a busy bank, and that day was not likely to be a very pressing one,
but still he would have to shoulder some of the labor.

Full of the terrible situation, Mortimer cared not who worked, so that
he got away in time to save Allis's brother from himself. At last he was
free. He almost ran to the station.

Looking from the window of the bank, the cashier seeing Mortimer's rapid
pace, muttered: "I guess the poor man's mother is pretty bad; I'm glad I
let him go. He's a good son to that mother of his."

At eleven o'clock Mortimer got a train for New York. During the wait at
the station he had paced up and down the platform with nervous stride. A
dozen times he looked at his watch--would he be too late? He had no idea
how long it would take to reach Gravesend; he knew nothing of the race
track's location. As the train whirled him through Emerson, where
his mother lived, he could see the little drab cottage, and wondered
pathetically what the good woman would say if she knew her son was going
to a race meeting. At twelve he was in New York.

XXXIV

Mortimer found that he could take an "L" train to the Bridge, and
transfer there to another taking him direct to the course. At the Bridge
he was thrust into a motley crowd, eager, expectant, full of joyous
anticipation of assured good luck. He was but a tiny unit of this
many-voiced throng; he drif