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MR. STRAUSSMAN TO THE RESCUE
The prosperously fleshed face above the dress-collar regarded him quizzically, an amused smile touching the clean-cut lips.
''Well, Mr. Rosser," said his employer, "you dont look precisely my idea of a murderer, nor yet a gunman. I haven't the remotest notion who you are, but — well, I was bored at the club — and here I am! Been stealing, or what's the charge?''
The light tone, the bantering words scorched Rosser's pride. Suddenly he forgot his awe of the great man at whose silk-counter he had served, ploddingly, for twelve years. He drew closer to the bars, his bent shoulders straightening, and spoke out as man to man.
''Mr.* Straussman," he began quietly, "maybe you think I haven't any claim on you — maybe I haven't any claim. But I've worked for you for twelve years, from eight in the morning to six at night. I'm a silkclerk in your store, Mr. Straussman. You give me twenty dollars a week. I
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have a wife. We're trying to buy a home and bring up our three babies decently — and we're doing it, too, sir!" Pride flamed in the words.
"Wife — home — babies — twenty
dollars a week Good Lord!"
Suddenly Straussman turned to the policeman who stood beside him. "Get this man out of here," he commanded. "I'll be responsible for his bail. Come along, Rosser. You've interested me, and I dont know when I've been interested before."
' ' But — but — the last train is gone, ' ' stammered the clerk. Straussman waved an impatient hand. "My car is outside. First, we'll settle up the red tape here — then I'll take you home. ' '
"By -the way" — it was an hour later, and the great limousine panted beneath them over the suburban roads — "you didn't tellme what happened to get you into such a scrape, Rosser. ' '
The clerk laughed, fumbling in the