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.
Travis saw that he was getting himself into a tight place; but his
self-possession did not desert him.
"I thought I must give my brother's name," he answered.
"What is your own name?"
"Henry Hunter.
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