Jonas carried the tray into a handsome, smoke filled room, where four
men with intent faces were gathered around a card table. Enoch, in his
shirt sleeves, was dealing as Jonas set a steaming cup at his elbow.
Perhaps the intensity of the colored man's gaze distracted Enoch's
attention for a moment from the cards. He looked up and when he met
Jonas' eyes he deliberately laid down the deck, rose, took Jonas by the
arm and led him to the door.
"Don't try this again, Jonas," he said, and he closed the door after
his steward.
Once more Jonas took up his vigil. He left his chair at nine o'clock
to telephone Charley Abbott that the Secretary had gone to New York,
then he returned to his place. Noon came, afternoon waned. As dusk
drew on again, Jonas went once more to the telephone.
"That you, Miss Allen? . . . This is Jonas. . . . Yes, ma'am, I'm
well, but the boss is in a dangerous condition. . . . Yes, ma'am, I
thought you'd feel bad because you see, it's your fault. . . . No,
ma'am, I can't explain over the telephone, but if you'll come to the
station and meet me at the news-stand on the corner, I'll tell
you. . . . Miss Allen, for God's sake, just trust me and come along.
Come now, in a cab, and I'll pay for it.
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