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Hope, Anthony, 1863-1933

"A Man of Mark"

Now they were
at the bank. I could hardly see what happened, but there seemed to be
a moment's pause; probably someone had knocked and they were waiting.
A second later a loud shout rang through the street and I saw a group
of figures crowding round the door and pushing a way into my poor
bank.
"The gods preserve Jones!" I whispered. "I hope the old fool won't try
to stop them."
As I spoke, I heard a short, sharp order from behind, "Now! Charge!"
As the word was given another body of fifty or more rushed by us full
tilt, and at their head we saw the President, sword in hand, running
like a young man and beckoning his men on. Up the street they swept.
Involuntarily we waited a moment to watch them. Just as they came near
the bank they sent up a shout:
"The President! the President! Death to traitors!"
Then there was a volley, and they closed round the building.
"Now for our turn, Christina," said I.
She grasped my arm tightly, and we sped across the road and into the
wood. It seemed darker than when I came through before, or perhaps my
eyes were dazzled by the glare of the street lamps. But still we got
along pretty well, I helping my companion with all my power.


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