"It wasn't altogether my fault, as you
know. And the governor of the state discovered that I wasn't as bad as
the jury thought me. It all came through trying to help a worthless
friend. Why, man, the governor pardoned me, when I had yet two years to
serve and restored me to liberty."
"But you're a jailbird, just the same," jeered the discharged foreman.
"Let the directors find _that_ out, and how quickly they'd drop you from
your office!"
Mr. Bascomb buried his face in his hands and sobbed aloud.
"So," continued Evarts, "I'll give you forty-eight hours to raise the ten
thousand dollars---in good cash, mind you---no checks! Then I'll call on
you to hand the money over to me. If you don't, I'll write a note to the
directors, telling them to look up your name in the court records at
Logville, Minnesota. Now, do you understand?"
"Yes," nodded Mr. Bascomb brokenly.
"And you'll have the money?"
"I---I'll try."
"You'll have the money---by day after tomorrow!"
"Yes."
"Now clear out---fast!"
"Eh?" inquired Mr. Bascomb, looking wildly at the wretch.
"Get out! Go back to the hotel in Blixton, and don't try to slip away from
me at any point in the game.
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