John then discovered an error in Al's "Redemption" letter, which Al good-humoredly acknowledged; and, shortly after, one "on" Mr. Young himself. This left us only a few cents out, so the cashier cried, "All right, boys. Let her go. You'll see seven innings of the game if you hurry." [Illustration: John jotted it down.—Page 453.] "Why, aren't you going, too, George?" exclaimed John with evident disappointment. "I wanted to treat you this afternoon," and he pulled out of his pocket one of the new bank-notes which had come in just a few days ago. [Illustration: It was too hot for talk.—Page 455.] "Sorry, John, but I've got some back work I must make up. And I want you to stay, too, Jim, and slice the rest of these green-backs. Habinger was late in signing them, you know." This was, in some measure, a fresh disappointment to John (as it was a very great one to me), for I could see he wanted to take the whole of us. Al and Ted had already accepted. Finally he went up to Bill and asked timidly and expectantly: "You're going, too, aren't you Bill?" But Bill refused the offer snarlingly, and mumbling something in a priggish tone about playing golf, left the bank without another word. Five minutes later the others had gone, too. As they went out, John cried: "I'll stop in on the way back to get my wheel. You'll be here, George?" "Yes. See you later, John. Good luck to you." IV The afternoon was broiling. The sun came in, scarcely checked by the yellow shades; fell on and soaked into the smooth, varnished surfaces of the desks and tables, and turned the iron of the big vault into a sort of storage battery of heat. Even the electric fan in the president's office, which we had placed on top of the telephone closet (as near us as its length of wire would allow), gave but little relief. Both of us were working in our shirt-sleeves, but the sweat stood on our brows, and my fingers were so sticky I could scarcely handle my bills. It was too hot for conversation even; so the only sounds in the room were the snipping of my shears, the crisp fluttering of the fresh, new bills as they fell one by one on the table; and the snapping of rubber bands as the cashier went over bundle after bundle of the bank paper, on the security of which all our positions depended. As I said, it was too hot for talk; and besides, I had plenty to engross me in my own thoughts—which were about John, of course. I began by thinking how profitable it would be to the bank if John might only have a baby every day; and then, as this was out of the question, fell to calculating how long this one that had just arrived would continue to work the same beneficial influence on her father's actions.