The gravity of the situation calmed Mortimer, and his mind worked with a cool method that surprised him. Bit by bit he pieced it out. The boy, inconsistently enough, had reasoned that the money was his father's, and that he was only borrowing family property. No doubt he had felt sure of winning, and that he would be back in time to replace the thousand before it was needed. This sophistical reasoning had, without doubt, tempted the lad to commit this--this--Mortimer felt a reluctance to bestow the proper name upon Alan's act, but undoubtedly it was stealing.
And if the boy lost the money, what would happen? He couldn't repay it; the shortage would be discovered and Allis's brother would be ruined, branded as a 'thief.
Mortimer would willingly put the money back himself for Allis's sake; but he hadn't it. What was he to do? If he could find Alan and force him to give up the stolen money he could yet save the boy. But Alan had gone to Gravesend.
Like an inspiration the thought came to Mortimer that he must go after him and get the money before it was lost. He shoved the box back in its place, and came out into the office.
It was half past ten by the clock. Luckily the cashier had not come yet. Mortimer's mind worked rapidly. He must make some excuse and 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.