"Now tell me what ails you, son," she said, as he snuggled down beside
her on the settee on the porch; for the evening was balmy and the stars
so bright they could not bear to sit inside by a lamp.
She did not once interrupt while he told the story, beginning with the
day he happened to be alone in the storeroom back of the offices eating
his lunch when Mr. Graylock brought over the securities he wished to
leave in the bank looking to the day he would have to borrow on them.
When he had finished Mrs. Morrison sighed deeply.
"I cannot see how any one could imagine that you had anything to do with
the disappearance of the papers," she said. "I should say that some one
who was perfectly familiar with their marketable value must have taken
them. But it is evident that Mr. Graylock has made up his mind you are
guilty, though it is incomprehensible to me why he should do so, rather
than one of the tellers, or the bookkeeper; and he means to give you all
the trouble he can. Oh! how I fear that man. There is something about
his face that makes me shiver whenever I look at him--something so
crafty, so cruel. I do not believe he has the feelings of other men, or
cares for a living soul beyond himself."
"Now, don't feel so badly over this affair, mother dear. It will all
come out right, just as Mr. Winslow says. Mr. Graylock may find that
after all he did not put the negotiable papers in the envelope--but no,
that couldn't be, for the cashier owns to having handled them at the
time.
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