He made a polite movement. "Oh, I say! That's too bad."
She plunged on. "You know the Union Bank closed today."
He laughed lightly.
"Yes, I know it! I didn't have anything in it--or any other bank
for that matter," he admitted ruefully, "but I hate to see the old
thing go to smash."
Dale wondered which angle was best from which to present her appeal.
"Well, even if you haven't lost anything in this bank failure, a lot
of your friends have--surely?" she went on.
"I'll say so!" said Fleming, debonairly. "Beresford is sitting down
the road in his Packard now writhing with pain!"
Dale hesitated; Fleming's lightness seemed so incorrigible that, for
a moment, she was on the verge of giving her project up entirely.
Then, "Waster or not--he's the only man who can help us!" she told
herself and continued.
"Lots of awfully poor people are going to suffer, too," she said
wistfully.
Fleming chuckled, dismissing the poor with a wave of his hand.
"Oh, well, the poor are always in trouble," he said with airy
heartlessness. "They specialize in suffering."
He extracted a monogrammed cigarette from a thin gold case.
"But look here," he went on, moving closer to Dale, "you didn't send
for me to discuss this hypothetical poor depositor, did you? Mind
if I smoke?"
"No." He lit his cigarette and puffed at it with enjoyment while
Dale paused, summoning up her courage. Finally the words came in a
rush.
"Mr. Fleming, I'm going to say something rather brutal.
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