Gus locked his trunk, put the key and check carefully away in his pocket and hurriedly left the house. Time was precious (he had less than half an hour left in which to eat his dinner and return to the store) and he made all the haste he could. He was particularly anxious to get through with his business at the bank, for he had been dreading it all the week. What would the folks in there think when he approached the cashier’s desk and presented a check for a hundred dollars? He ran up the steps while he was thinking about it, and almost into the arms of the very person he most wished to avoid just then—the one who had waited to dun him when he came out of his father’s office. Sam had drawn his month’s wages and came to the bank to deposit them. “Hallo!” exclaimed Sam. “Where did you go in such a hurry after you drew your money? I didn’t see you come out of the office.” “But I did come out, you see; for if I had stayed in, I couldn’t be here, could I?” “Hold on,” said Sam, as Gus tried to push him aside so that he could enter the door. “This is a good time to settle up.” “I will settle with you this afternoon, sure pop,” returned Gus. “Why can’t you do it now? You have got your money, for I saw you draw it.” “I know it, but I haven’t got it now. I’ll be on hand this evening—sure.” “You said this afternoon,” answered Sam, looking suspiciously at Gus. “Well, this afternoon, then.” So saying, Gus crowded past Sam and went into the bank. To his great relief there was no one in front of the cashier’s desk; no one present to see him receive his hundred dollars. With a beating heart and trembling hand he produced his check, and breathed a good deal easier when he saw that the cashier did not exhibit any surprise at its magnitude. He was in hopes that the man would be in a hurry about cashing it, but instead of that he was very deliberate in his movements. He looked at the check on all sides and then he looked at Gus. “Who is this John Ackerman?” he asked. “He used to be father’s book-keeper, you know,” said Gus. “O, yes! Do you want us to collect this for you?” “No, sir; I want the money on it now.” “All right,” said the cashier, handing the check over the counter. “Write your name across the back of it, and then take it home and let your father sign it.” “My father!” exclaimed Gus. “Not much. I mean—what do you want his signature for?” he added hastily, and in great confusion, for the cashier looked at him as if he were somewhat surprised at his earnestness. “To make ourselves secure,” said the cashier, by way of explanation. “You see, Gus, this check is drawn by John Ackerman on the Planters’ Bank of Austin, Texas. He may have funds there, but he has none here, and neither have you; and it is our rule in such cases to require an endorsement other than that of the payee. You are the payee, you know—the one to whom the check is made payable. Your father will sign it.”