“That’s just inside the limit. Need it right away?”
“Yes.”
Mr. Wills fumbled in a pigeonhole and passed Jim a note.
“Make this out, sign it as an officer of your company, and put your personal indorsement on the back. It’s a demand note, you observe. We prefer that kind.”
Jim wasn’t clear just what the difference was between that kind and the other. It didn’t matter. He was going to get the money he needed—without an effort. It was a shock to him. Were money matters arranged thus easily? Was money in considerable sums so easy to come by? He signed the note, and was told the amount would be credited to his accounts as of that day.
After he had chatted a moment, and thanked Mr. Wills as profusely as he believed it wise, he turned away. But a sudden recollection stopped him. Mr. Wills had said Zaanan Frame and Mr. Moran had favored the loan. Did you ever eat cherry pie, delicious cherry pie, and suddenly encounter a pit which the cook had overlooked? Jim felt much the same way.
“What Mr. Moran is on your board?” he asked.
Wills looked his astonishment.
“Why, Michael Moran, of course!” he said.
As Jim turned off the road on to the mill lot, a man two inches shorter than he and four inches broader accosted him.