The Pleasantville press. (Pleasantville, N.J.) 1912-1929, 1916-01-08

above the burning gas jet and hen
looked lingeringly about the bank-lin-
geringly and fondly, Uncle Bushrol
thought, as one who bids farewell to
lear and familiar scenes.
Now he caught up his burden again
and moved promptly and softly Il OF
the bank by the way he had come.
locking the front door behind him.
For a minute or longer Uncle Bush
rod was as stone in his tracks. Had
that midnight rifler of safes and vaults
been any other on earth than the man
he was the old retainer would have
rushed Upon him and struck to save
the Weymouth property. But now the
watchers soul was tortured by the
poignant dread of something worse
than mere robbery. He vas seized by
an accusing terror that said the Wey-
mouth name and the Weymouth hon
or were about to be lost. Marse Rob
ert robbing the bank! What else could
it mean? The hour of the night, the
stealthy visit to the vault, the satchel
brought forth full and with expedition
and silence, the providers rough dress,
his solicitous reading of the clock and
noiseless departure-what else could it
mean?
And then to the turmoil of Uncle
Bushrod's thoughts came the corrob-
Grating recollection of preceding events
Mr.. Roberts increasing intemperance
and consequent many moods of royal
high spirits and stern tempers; the
casual talk he had heard in the bank
of the decrease in business and diff
Guilty in collecting loans. What else
could it all mean but that Robert Wey.
mouth was an absconder-was abou.
to fly with the banks remaining funds
leaving Mr.. William, Miss Lefty, little
Nan, Guy and Uncle Bushrod to bear
the disgrace?
During one minute Uncle Bushrod
considered these things, and then he
awoke to sudden determination and
action.
"Lawd, Lawd!' he moaned aloud as
he hobbled hastily toward the side door.
"Sech a comeoff after all desc here
years of big doin's and fine doin's.
Scan'lous sights upon de yearth when
de Weymouth family done turn out
robbers and 'bezzlers! Time for Uncle
Bushrod to clean out somebody's chick
en- coop and chen matters up. Oh,
Lawd! Marse Robert, you amt gwine
do dat. N Miss Lefty an dem chilluu
so proud and talkin' Weymouth, Wey-
MOUTH all de time! I'm gwine to stop
you eff 1 can. Spec you shoot Mr.. Mig
gers head off eff he fool wild you, but
I'm gwine stop you eff l can"
Uncle Bushrod, aided by his hickory
stick, lmpeded by his rheumatism, hur
ried down the street toward the rail
road station, where the two lines touch
ing Weymouthville met. As he had eX
pected and feared, he saw there Mr.
Robert standing in the shadow of the
building waiting for the train. He held
the satchel in his hand.
When Uncle Bushrod came within
twenty yards of the bank president,
standing like a huge, gray ghost by the
station wall, sudden perturbation seiz-
ed him. The rashness and audacity OF
the thing he had come to do struck him
lulll. he MOllll HdNe DbRu DtDDA
could he have turned and fled from
the possibilities of the famous Wey-
mouth wrath. But again he saw, in
his fancy, the white, r%eproachful face
of Miss Lefty and the distressed looks
of Nan and Guy should he fail in his
duty and they question MIN as to his
stewardship.
Braced by the thought, hesapproaehed
in a straight line, clearing his throat
and pounding with his stick so that he
might be early recognized. Thus he
might avoid the likely danger of too
suddenly surprising the sometimes has
ty Mr.. Robert.
as hat you, B%ushrod?' called the
CLAIMANT, clear voice of the gray ghost.
Eyes, sub, Marse Robert"
what the devil are you doing out at
this time of night?'
For the first time in his life Uncle
Bushrod told Marse Robert a false
hood. He could not repress it. He
would have to circumlocute a little.
His nerve was not equal to a direct at
tack.
Il done been down, sub, to see ole
Aunt Mira Patterson. She taken sick
in de night, and I kyar'ed her a bottle
of M'lindy's medercine. Yes, sub"
"Humph.' said Robert. You better
get home out of the night air. It's
damp. You'll hardly be worth killing
tomorrow on account of your rheuma-
tism. Think it'll be a clear day, Bush
rod?"
Il low it will, sub. De sun sot red
las night"
MI. Robert lit a cigar in the shadow.
and the smoke looked like his gray
ghost expanding and escaping into the
night air. Somehow Uncle Bushrod
could barely force his reluctant tongue
to the dreadful subject. He stood,
awkward, stumbling, with his feet
upon the gravel and fumbling with his
stick. But then, afar off-three miles
800. - tT,. Ts~,+1xr~,, e,Tf+1h ho hnop1