“I could gag it off. I could say I’m keeping after them, to keep their deposits up, the way Charles always did. I don’t think there’s any danger. The cash will be there.”
So that was how we did it. She had the slips printed, and began mailing them out, three or four at a time. For the first few days’ replacement, the cash replacement I mean, I had enough in my own checking account. For the rest, I had to go out and plaster my house. For that I went to the Federal people. It took about a week, and I had to start an outside account, so nobody in the bank would know what I was up to. I took eight thousand bucks, and if you don’t think that hurt, you never plastered your house. Of course, it would be our luck that when the first of those books came in, she was out to lunch, and I was on the window myself. I took in the book, and receipted for it, but Church was only three or four feet away, running a column on one of the adding machines. She heard what I said to the depositor, and was at my elbow before I even knew how she got there.
“I can do that for you, Mr. Bennett. I’ll only be a minute, and there’ll be no need for him to leave his book.”
“Well — I’d rather Mrs. Brent handled it.”
“Oh, very well, then.”
She switched away then, in a huff, and I could feel the sweat in the palms of my hands. That night I warned Sheila. “That Church can bust it up.”
“How?”
“Her damned apple-polishing. She horned in today, wanted to balance that book for me. I had to chase her.”
“Leave her to me.”
“For God’s sake, don’t let her suspect anything.”
“I won’t, don’t worry.”
From then on, we made a kind of routine out of it. She’d get in three or four books, ask the depositors to leave them with her till next day. She’d make out new cards, and tell me the exact amount she needed, that night. I’d hand her that much in cash. Next day, she’d slip it into her cash box, make out new cards for the depositors, slip them in the file, then make out new passbooks and have them ready when the depositors called. Every day we’d be that much nearer home, both praying that nothing would tip it before we got the whole replacement made. Most days I’d say we plugged about $400 into the cash, one or two days a little more.
One night, maybe a week after we started putting the money back, they had the big dinner dance for the whole organization. I guess about a thousand people were there, in the main ballroom of one of the Los Angeles hotels, and it was a pretty nice get-together. They don’t make a pep meeting out of it. The Old Man doesn’t like that kind of thing. He just has a kind of a family gathering, makes them a little speech, and then the dancing starts, and he stands around watching them enjoy themselves. I guess you’ve heard of A. R. Ferguson. He’s founder of the bank, and the minute you look at him you know he’s a big shot. He’s not tall, but he’s straight and stocky, with a little white moustache that makes him look like some kind of a military man.
Well, we all had to go, of course. I sat at the table with the others from the branch, Miss Church, and Helm, and Snelling, and Snelling’s wife, and Sheila. I made it a point not to sit with Sheila. I was afraid to. So after the banquet, when the dancing started, I went over to shake hands with the Old Man. He always treated me fine, just like he treats everybody. He’s got that natural courtesy that no little guy ever quite seems capable of. He asked how I was, and then: “How much longer do you think you’ll be out there in Glendale? Are you nearly done?”
An icy feeling began to go over me. If he yanked me now, and returned me to the home office, there went all chance of covering that shortage, and God only knew what they would find out, if it was half covered and half not.
“Why, I tell you, Mr. Ferguson, if you can possibly arrange it, I’d like to stay out there till after the first of the month.”
“...So long?”
“Well, I’ve found some things out there that are well worth making a thorough study of, it seems to me. Fact of the matter, I had thought of writing an article about them in addition to my report. I thought I’d send it to the American Banker, and if I could have a little more time—”
“In that case, take all the time you want.”
“I thought it wouldn’t hurt us any.”
“I only wish more of our officials would write.”
“Gives us a little prestige.”
“—and makes them think!”
My mouth did it all. I was standing behind it, not knowing what was coming out from one minute to the next. I hadn’t thought of any article, up to that very second, and I give you one guess how I felt. I felt like a heel, and all the worse on account of the fine way he treated me. We stood there a few minutes, he telling me how he was leaving for Honolulu the next day, but he’d be back within the month, and looked forward to reading what I had to say as soon as he came back. Then he motioned in the direction of the dance floor. “Who’s the girl in blue?”
“Mrs. Brent.”
“Oh yes, I want to speak to her.”
We did some broken-floor dodging, and got over to where Sheila was dancing with Helm. They stopped, and I introduced the Old Man, and he asked how Brent was coming along after the operation, and then cut in on Helm, and danced Sheila off. I wasn’t in much of a humor when I met her outside later and took her home. “What’s the matter, Dave?”
“Couldn’t quite look the Old Man in the eye, that’s all.”
“Have you got cold feet?”
“Just feeling the strain.”
“If you have got cold feet, and want to quit, there’s nothing I can say. Nothing at all.”
“All I got to say is I’ll be glad when we’re clear of that heel, and can kick him out of the bank and out of our lives.”
“In two weeks it’ll be done.”
“How is he?”
“He’s leaving the hospital Saturday.”
“That’s nice.”
“He’s not coming home yet. The doctor insists that he go up to Arrowhead to get his strength back. He’ll be there three or four weeks. He has friends there.”
“What have you told him, by the way?”
“Nothing.”
“Just nothing?”
“Not one word.”
“He had an ulcer, is that what you said?”
“Yes.”
“I was reading in a medical magazine the other day what causes it. Do you know what it is?”
“No.”
“Worry.”
“So?”
“It might help the recuperating process if he knew it was O.K. about the shortage. Lying in a hospital, with a thing like that staring you in the face, that may not be so good. For his health anyway.”
“What am I to tell him?”
“Why, I don’t know. That you’ve fixed it up.”
“If I tell him I’ve fixed it up, so nobody is going to know it, he knows I’ve got some kind of assistance in the bank. That’ll terrify him, and I don’t know what he’s likely to do about it. He may speak to somebody, and the whole thing will come out. And who am I going to say has let me have the money, so I can put it back? You?”
“Do you have to say?”
“No. I don’t have to say anything at all, and I’m not going to. The less you’re involved in this the better. If he worries, he ought to be used to it by now. It won’t hurt that young man to do quite a little suffering over what he’s done to me — and to you.”
“It’s up to you.”
“He knows something’s cooking, all right, but he doesn’t know what. I look forward to seeing his face when I tell him I’m off to — where did you say?”