“It—will—not—matter—”
“You must accept this thought in such a way as to be comfortable, Judy. Are you comfortable?”
“Yes.”
“Good. Now we shall awaken. One…two…three…”
I started slightly when his fingers snapped.
Judy opened her eyes, gazed at me blankly a moment, then looked at Mr. Eggleston.
He was paying her no attention. “David, tomorrow night at ten, I shall call at your rooming house for the five thousand dollars you’ve agreed to pay me.”
Judy said, “I must have dozed off a second. When do we begin with this hypnotism?”
“We have finished with it,” Eggleston smiled.
She frowned. “Is that true, Davie?”
I nodded.
“But I don’t feel any different,” Judy said. “Are you sure?”
“Positively,” Mr. Eggleston said. He patted me on the shoulder. “And it’s a brilliant idea, my boy, one I might have come up with myself!”
* * * *
I woke the next morning, Friday, with about two hours’ total sleep during the preceding night. My stomach was jerky, and I nicked myself while shaving. I had a cup of coffee for an indigestible breakfast.
I walked around the block twice, waiting for the hardware store to open. Inside, I had the bank deposit prepared in record-breaking time. I had to kill several minutes arranging a display of fishing gear for the simple reason that I didn’t think it wise to be the very first customer in the bank.
Feeling as if every eye in the grubby factory town was focused on me, I forced myself past the glass and brass doors of the bank. The guard, Mr. Sevier, was looking directly at me.
Normally, Mr. Sevier appears to me as a kindly middle-aged man with an elfin sort of face and tufts of white hair in his ears. Today, he grew horns; his skin was a threatening purple; there was brimstone in his slitted eyes.
“Good morning, Mr. Sevier.”
“Nice to see you, Davie.” He slapped me on the back as I passed.
Behind her teller’s wicket Judy gave me a warm smile. She appeared to have slept quite well, and I wondered if maybe I shouldn’t have let Mr. Eggleston put me under also.
I handed the heavy leather and canvas bag to Judy. She opened it checked the deposit.
Nobody paid any attention to my lingering at Judy’s window. There was just enough early business to keep the other employees occupied. Anyhow, everyone in the bank knew that Judy and I were collecting pennies in a joint account toward the day we could be married.
With a nod that no one else noticed, she finally returned the satchel to me.
My heart started going like sixty. I felt as if the weight of the bag were pulling me to one side, making me walk out of the bank at a crazy angle.
I was almost at the doors when Judy called my name quietly.
I had to stop right beside Mr. Sevier.
“Don’t forget lunch, Davie,” Judy said.
“I won’t.”
She blew me a little kiss. Mr. Sevier chuckled fondly as he gave me a little punch on the shoulder.
I went to the parking lot half a block away and collapsed in my car.
I tugged my collar with my finger, got a lungful of air, started the car, and drove casually to the hardware store. By the time I parked behind the store, I’d transferred the money to the heavy brown paper bag and stuffed it under the seat of the car. I was practically twitching with nervous eagerness to count the money. Driving along with commonplace innocence, the important work taking place with my free hand below window level, I’d caught only glances of the neatly banded money. But I knew there was plenty. I’d never seen so many stacks of fifties and hundreds in one place in all my life—except in the bank. I was certainly grateful to Landers Mills for paying but twice a month, on the first and fifteenth.
I started to lock the car, then decided against it So far, everything was perfect. I’d driven directly from the bank, in plain view of the town. Judy and I were experiencing a routine, commonplace day. I wasn’t in the habit of locking the jalopy this time of year. The money was safely out of sight I went into the store.
Fortunately, there were customers to help pass the morning. Even so, I had to make three trips to the gent’s room inside of an hour.
Then at ten fifty-six by the clock on the far wall, which had a pendulum behind a fly-specked front that advertised Maney’s Merrygrow Manure, the waiting was all over.
Like a well-fed, full-bosomed turkey with a gray topknot, Mrs. Threckle came to the door of the office, spoke my name, and motioned to me frantically.
I hurried to her. “What is it, Mrs. Threckle?”
“Terrible thing…” she gasped, “terrible…a bank robbery…They’ve got Judy at police headquarters…”
I had to grab the office door framing to keep from folding to the floor like a collapsing letter Z. This part wasn’t an act, either. I thought wildly: They’ve caught her, and she’s trying to protect me, going it alone…
“You poor, dear boy!” Mrs. Threckle said. “You must get down there right away. I’ll explain to Mr. Harper.”
I could think of several other directions more preferable. Then Mrs. Threckle saved me from a nervous breakdown.
“She hasn’t been hurt Davie. There was no shooting. They’ve merely taken her down to get a description of the robber.”
Several minutes later,
