“Old Jerry has taken it!” he said, sternly, “and has slunk off with it before I am up. That’s why he got up so early. But I’ll put a spoke in his wheel. I’ll go to the bank and give notice that my book has been stolen. He shan’t draw the money on it, if I can prevent it.” But Paul was unable to carry out his intention of calling at the bank at the hour of opening, in order to give notice of his loss. On reporting for duty at the telegraph office, he was sent over to Jersey City, where he was detained until eleven o’clock. He felt uneasy, and thought of asking to have some other boy assigned to the duty, but it so happened that the superintendent was not in an amiable frame of mind, and he knew that his request would not be granted. Meanwhile, about five minutes after the bank was opened, old Jerry shambled in, and, sitting down at a table, wrote out an order for forty dollars in favor of Book No. 251,610 signing it “Paul Parton.” This he took to the desk of the cashier. “Please give me the money on this,” he said. The cashier eyed him sharply. “Are you Paul Parton?” he demanded. “N-no,” faltered the old man; “I am Paul’s guardian.” “Did you put in this money for him?” “N-no.” “Did he write this order?” Old Jerry would have had no scruples about asserting that it was written by Paul, but he knew that the statement would at once be recognized as false, as he had himself written it in the presence of the cashier. “N-no,” he admitted, reluctantly; “but it makes no difference; Paul is busy, and can’t come. He’s a telegraph boy. H-he wanted me to draw it for him.” It will be seen that old Jerry’s conscience was elastic, and that he had no scruple about lying. “That won’t answer,” replied the cashier, eying the old man suspiciously. “It is not according to our rules.” “I--I want to use the money--that is, Paul does,” remonstrated old Jerry, disappointed. “That makes no difference.” “I--I’ll get Paul to write an order,” said Jerry, as he left the bank. “That old man stole the boy’s book,” thought the cashier. “Now he is going home to forge an order in the boy’s name.” That is exactly what old Jerry meant to do. He thought it best however, to wait till afternoon. Meanwhile, at twelve o’clock, Paul, then for the first time able to get away, hurried into the bank, breathless. “I want to give notice that my bank book has been taken,” he said, panting. “Your name, please?” “Paul Parton.” “Number of book?” “No. 251,610.” “Your book was presented two hours since by an old man, who handed in an order for all the money.” The perspiration gathered on Paul’s brow. “Did you give it to him?” “No; it is not according to our rules to pay, except to the written order of the depositor.” “I am glad of that,” said Paul. “Don’t pay it if he comes again.” “We will not,” replied the cashier; and Paul left the building feeling greatly relieved.