Thorpe's face lighted up as he rose to greet his partner. The boy had not forgotten their compact after all. “Then it's all right?” queried the latter breathlessly. “Sure,” answered Thorpe heartily, “got 'em in good shape.” At the same time he was drawing the youth beyond the vigilant watchfulness of Mr. Morrison. “You're just in time,” he said in an undertone. “Never had so close a squeak. I suppose you have cash or a certified check: that's all they'll take here.” “What do you mean?” asked Carpenter blankly. “Haven't you that money?” returned Thorpe quick as a hawk. “For Heaven's sake, isn't it here?” cried Wallace in consternation. “I wired Duncan, my banker, here last night, and received a reply from him. He answered that he'd see to it. Haven't you seen him?” “No,” repeated Thorpe in his turn. “What can we do?” “Can you get your check certified here near at hand?” “Yes.” “Well, go do it. And get a move on you. You have precisely until that boy there finishes clicking that machine. Not a second longer.” “Can't you get them to wait a few minutes?” “Wallace,” said Thorpe, “do you see that white whiskered old lynx in the corner? That's Morrison, the man who wants to get our land. If I fail to plank down the cash the very instant it is demanded, he gets his chance. And he'll take it. Now, go. Don't hurry until you get beyond the door: then FLY!” Thorpe sat down again in his broad-armed chair and resumed his drumming. The nearest bank was six blocks away. He counted over in his mind the steps of Carpenter's progress; now to the door, now in the next block, now so far beyond. He had just escorted him to the door of the bank, when the clerk's voice broke in on him. “Now,” Smithers was saying, “I'll give you a receipt for the amount, and later will send to your address the title deeds of the descriptions.” Carpenter had yet to find the proper official, to identify himself, to certify the check, and to return. It was hopeless. Thorpe dropped his hands in surrender. Then he saw the boy lay the two typed lists before his principal, and dimly he perceived that the youth, shamefacedly, was holding something bulky toward himself. “Wh--what is it?” he stammered, drawing his hand back as though from a red-hot iron. “You asked me for a telegram,” said the boy stubbornly, as though trying to excuse himself, “and I didn't just catch the name, anyway. When I saw it on those lists I had to copy, I thought of this here.” “Where'd you get it?” asked Thorpe breathlessly. “A fellow came here early and left it for you while I was sweeping out,” explained the boy. “Said he had to catch a train. It's yours all right, ain't it?” “Oh, yes,” replied Thorpe. He took the envelope and walked uncertainly to the tall window. He looked out at the chimneys. After a moment he tore open the envelope. “I hope there's no bad news, sir?” said the clerk, startled at the paleness of the face Thorpe turned to the desk.