The stranger shoved the two checks he had taken out through the window. The teller glanced at them, and his jaw fell. He excused himself, then beckoned to Colonel Carson to come over.
“These are pretty large checks, colonel,” he said apologetically.
“Humph!” grunted Carson, and turned to the stranger. “Made out to John Smith! Is that your name?”
“Aren’t those checks sufficient warrant?” smiled the stranger. “They’re certified, and ought to be as good as gold, Colonel Carson.”
“You know me?” The bank owner looked surprised.
“I’ve heard of you,” returned John Smith pleasantly. “You see, I’m quite a follower of baseball, though I don’t often get away from home. I’ve heard a good deal of the Carsonville Clippers, and came over to have a look at them.”
Bully Carson swelled visibly. His father turned to the teller.
“It’s all right, I guess. Two thousand is a big sum, but they’re certified. Mr. Smith, meet my son. He’s the pitcher o’ the Clippers. Goin’ to stay for the game to-morrow?”
“Perhaps,” smiled John Smith. “I’ll see what the chances are for placing a few bets around here.”
He winked knowingly, and Colonel Carson flung Bully a warning glance.