"This bank examiner found a note for thirty-five hundred dollars made by a prominent farmer that was sixty days past due. He called the farmer up and asked him to come to the bank at once and take care of it. When the farmer came he declared that he had never given the note. That evening Stover and Finch called me into the directors' room. Finch showed me that there was a shortage of thirty-five hundred dollars. The note that was, according to the farmer, a forgery was shown me. Babcock and myself both loaned money. It was our custom when making a loan to put our initials on the margin to show who was responsible for making the loan. On the lower left hand margin were the initials D.W. I told Stover and Finch that I would swear before God that I had never seen the note before, but the strange part was that the note was written in my hand writing and the initials were exactly as I make them. The bank examiner showed me the entry of the three thousand dollar loan on the books; where the entry in the bills receivable book and the credit on the cash book were both in my hand writing. After this forged note had been made the books still showed a shortage of five hundred dollars. "Again and again I told them that I knew nothing of these things." "'You'd have a hard time convincing a jury of that,' the bank examiner told me. "I was forced to admit that the evidence looked strong against me. Finally, when I was almost crazy, Stover said, 'Young man, I will give you one chance. You pay the five hundred dollars that the books show the cash is still short, assign your stock over to me and I will take care of the three thousand dollar note. You leave the country tonight and never return.' "I told him that that was impossible, as I did not have the five hundred dollars. Finally he told me how sorry he felt for me and how anxious he was to keep me out of the penitentiary and that he would pay the other five hundred and give me two hundred dollars to leave on. He then gave me some good advice as to my future conduct. I was perfectly innocent, but I had no friend in the West, except Mr. Babcock, and he had been injured in an auto accident that afternoon and his life was despaired of. In my excited imagination I saw the cold stern walls of the penitentiary loom before me. I accepted Stover's offer. (During this recital Harold listened intently and occasionally made notes.)