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 “I know Mr. Woodhouse owns it to-day. I know what he expects of me.”

“I know what he should expect of you,” Crane burst out with venom. “If he weren’t getting into his second childhood he would never leave you—scum like you—with money to handle. Your father was a thief and you—”

Angus stood up quickly. Crane failed to finish his sentence.

“You must not speak to me like that,” Angus said with something of his old-time manner. “You must not call me names—you nor anybody else…. I’ve told your son—he knows. You have been against me always…. I don’t know why…. But you must not call me names—ever again.”

“I—I—you young….”

Angus advanced a step. He spoke calmly now, so calmly that Crane fell into grievous error. The chill of fear, that relic of his childhood passed away from him. He was perturbed, but master of himself.

“You must not speak to me as you have…. Here I am not Angus Burke, but Mr. Woodhouse’s representative… cashier of this bank. You must remember…. You must have respect for Mr. Woodhouse.”

“I have respect enough for Mr. Woodhouse,” Judge Crane snarled; then, mistaking Angus’s