"Thanks!" he said. "You might have done a little more--sent somebody
down to keep a place in line for me. You're out of your mind, but
there's no time to talk about it now. Good-by." And so he rang off.
Montague dressed and had his breakfast; in the meantime he glanced
over a copy of the Despatch, where, in the account of the day's
events, he found the fatal statements about the Trust Company of the
Republic. It was very interesting to Montague to read these
newspapers and see the picture of events which they presented to the
public. They all told what they could not avoid telling--that is,
the events which were public matters; but they never by any chance
gave a hint of the reasons for the happenings--you would have
supposed that all these upheavals in the banking world were so many
thunderbolts which had fallen from the heavens above. And each day
they gave more of their space to insisting that the previous day's
misfortunes were the last--that by no chance could there be any more
thunderbolts to fall.
When he went down town, he rode one station farther than usual in
order to pass the Trust Company of the Republic.
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