“All right, there you are, in big letters.” Walton laughed, still victoriously, as he pencilled the name on the pad. “Now, one other formality, please--your postoffice address?” “My post-office--” Whipple hesitated. His astounded gaze went down; he was all of a quiver, even to his bushy eyebrows. “Why, it's this way--this way--” he stammered, and, raising his helpless eyes to the banker's taunting ones, he came to a dead halt. “I think it _must_ be,” Walton chuckled. “In fact, it mighty nigh always is that way when a feller gits in a corner. But surely, out of all the places in the United States, you could think of _some_ town, railroad station, or cross-roads store. A word as uncommon as _Whipple_ would be hard for _me_ to think of in a pinch. It seemed to come handy to you. Maybe you've used it before, or had some dead friend by that name.” “You are not fair, sir!” The merchant was becoming exasperated by the human riddle before him. “I told you I had come against your son's knowledge or wish. He has kept his whereabouts from you up to now, and I have no moral right to let it out. I reckon he is afraid you will hound him down before he has a chance to pay back what he owes you. The Lord knows, he has plenty of reason for being cautious, for, if I am any judge, you are as hard and unforgiving as a stone wall.” “I haven't seen any reason to forgive him, or bother one way or another about it,” old Simon hurled into the flushed face before him. “I don't see any difference between the way me and him stand now and six years ago. I reckon he thinks I'm on my last legs, and that the three thousand he got by some hook or crook--or _from_ some crook--would be well invested as a gum-stickum plaster to put over my eyes before I am put under ground. After he had staked that much, he thought some oily-tongued friend of his might come and reconnoitre and report favorable. Well, you've reconnoitred, Mr.--Mr. Whipstock, and you can go back to Atlanta and tell him it is no go. You may tell him I am much obliged to you all--whoever your gang is--for the three thousand on account. I may be making a mistake now by shooting off my mouth so quick, for if I had worked my cards right I might have secured another payment by dropping a tear or two; but it is worth something to say what I've said in the way I've said it.” “So you don't believe what I have told you?” Whipple gasped, in astonishment. “Not a blessed word--not a syllable,” Walton laughed, and he threw himself back in his chair in sheer enjoyment of his visitor's discomfiture. “You don't believe he is in my employment--you don't believe he earned the money by faithful work which he sent you--you don't believe--” Whipple paused, at the end of his resources.