Blount appeared the next day, dropping in casually as was his wont; but there was a cold, killing look in his eye and he had a deputy sheriff as a witness. They looked through the mill and Blount asked several leading questions before he ventured to come to the point, but at last he cleared his throat and spoke up. "Well, Wiley," he said, drawing some papers from his pocket, "I'm sorry, but I'll have to call your notes. If it were my money it would be different; but I'm a banker, you understand, and your paper is long overdue. I've extended it before because I admired your courage and thought you might possibly pull through, but this accident to your mill has impaired the property and I can't let it run any longer." "Oh, that's all right," said Wiley, "but you don't need to apologize, because there won't be any attachments and judgments. Just tell me how much it comes to and I'll write you out a check." He took the notes from Blount's palsied hand and spread them on the desk before him, but as he was jotting down the totals Blount grabbed them wildly away. "Not much!" he exclaimed, "I don't surrender those notes until the money is put in my hands! Your check isn't worth a pen stroke!" "Well, I don't know," returned Wiley. "There may be two opinions about that. I had a hunch, Mr. Blount, that you might spring something like this and so I made arrangements to accommodate you." "But you're strapped! You owe everybody!" cried Blount in a passion. "I don't believe you've got a cent!" "Just a minute," said Wiley, and took down his telephone. "Hello," he called, "get me the First National Bank." He waited then, twiddling his pencil placidly, while Blount's great neck swelled out with venom. "I figure," went on Wiley, as he waited for the connection, "that I owe you twenty-two thousand dollars, with interest amounting to two-eighty-three, sixty-one. Here's your check, all filled out, and when I get the bank you can ask the cashier if it's good." "But, Wiley--," began Blount. "Hello! Hello! Is this the First National? This is Holman, out at the Paymaster. Mr. Blount is here and, as I'm closing my account with him----" "No! No!" cried Blount in a panic, but Wiley went on with his talk. "Yes," he said, "the check is for twenty-two thousand, two eighty-three, sixty-one. Will you please set that amount aside to meet the payment on this check? All right, Mr. Blount, here's the bank." He held out the instrument and Blount seized it roughly, for he had heard of fake telephone messages before, but when he listened he recognized the voice. "Oh, Agnew?" he hailed, smiling genially at the 'phone. "Well, sorry to have troubled you, I'm sure. Oh, yes, yes; I know Wiley is all right; he's good with us for twenty thousand more. No, never mind the certification; we may let the matter drop. Yes, thank you very much--good-by!" He hung up the receiver and turned to Wiley; but the cold, killing look was gone.