“Here he is,” he exclaimed, hurrying back. “Can’t you hide me somewhere? I don’t want to be seen.”
The cashier understood at once how the land lay. He quickly opened a little door, and admitted Dick behind the counter.
“Stoop down,” he said, “so as not to be seen.”
Dick had hardly done so when Jim Travis opened the outer door, and, looking about him in a little uncertainty, walked up to the cashier’s desk.
TRAVIS IS ARRESTED
Jim Travis advanced into the bank with a doubtful step, knowing well that he was on a dishonest errand, and heartily wishing that he were well out of it. After a little hesitation, he approached the paying-teller, and, exhibiting the bank-book, said, “I want to get my money out.”
The bank-officer took the book, and, after looking at it a moment, said, “How much do you want?”
“The whole of it,” said Travis.
“You can draw out any part of it, but to draw out the whole requires a week’s notice.”
“Then I’ll take a hundred dollars.”
“Are you the person to whom the book belongs?”
“Yes, sir,” said Travis, without hesitation.
“Your name is—”
The bank-clerk went to a large folio volume, containing the names of depositors, and began to turn over the leaves. While he was doing this, he managed to send out a young man connected with the bank for a policeman. Travis did not perceive this, or did not suspect that it had anything to do with himself. Not being used to savings banks, he supposed the delay only what was usual. After a search, which was only intended to gain time that a policeman might be summoned, the cashier came back, and, sliding out a piece of paper to Travis, said, “It will be necessary for you to write an order for the money.”
Travis took a pen, which he found on the ledge outside, and wrote the order, signing his name “Dick Hunter,” having observed that name on the outside of the book.
“Your name is Dick Hunter, then?” said the cashier, taking the paper, and looking at the thief over his spectacles.
“Yes,” said Travis, promptly.
“But,” continued the cashier, “I find Hunter’s age is put down on the bank-book as fourteen. Surely you must be more than that.”
Travis would gladly have declared that he was only fourteen; but, being in reality twenty-three, and possessing a luxuriant pair of whiskers, this was not to be thought of. He began to feel uneasy.
“Dick Hunter’s my younger brother,” he said. “I’m getting out the money for him.”
“I thought you said your own name was Dick Hunter,” said the cashier.
“I said my name was Hunter,” said Travis, ingeniously. “I didn’t understand you.”
“But you’ve signed the name of Dick Hunter to this order. How is that?” questioned the troublesome cashier.