When the cheering thousands welcomed the soldiers returning from the war, a proud father held his little girl on his shoulder and she waved her hand joyously to the bronzed heroes some of whom were still little more than boys. One laughing soldier snatched away the child and kissed her. He was Captain Friestone and the girl was Bessie Elton. The acquaintance thus begun ripened until the time arrived for her to put on long dresses, and by and by she became the happy bride of the officer, and never a shadow darkened their hearthstone until Death called and took away the brave husband and father.
Mike noticed that a massive safe stood behind the counter in a corner at the rear of the store. The ponderous door was open, for mother and daughter had frequent cause to use the repository. Within the steel structure all the stamps, government funds and daily cash receipts were deposited at the close of the day’s business. The value of these was slight, but the safe contained a great deal more. While Nora was lighting the five kerosene lamps, suspended on brackets at favorable points in the store, a middle aged and somewhat corpulent man bustled in, nodded to the widow and handed her a large sealed envelope. Mike heard him say, “Twenty-five hundred,” and she replied “Very well.” It was evident that he had brought in that amount of money and left if for security with her. On the back of the envelope—though of course the youth did not see this—was written in a large, round hand, “C. Jasper, $2500.”
The widow walked to the rear of the store, drew out one of the small central drawers of the safe and placed the big envelope in it, still leaving the heavy door open, though the little drawer was locked with a tiny key.
Five minutes later, a second man, thin, nervous and alert, stepped through the door, glanced sharply around and passed a similar envelope to the woman. On the back of it was written, “G. H. Kupfer—$1250.”
“You will please give me a receipt,” he said in his brisk fashion. The reply was gentle:
“I cannot do that.”
“Why not? It’s simple business.”
“Mr. Kupfer, because you have more faith in my safe than in your small one, you bring your money to me. I have not asked it; I should rather not have it, and I do it only to accommodate you, besides which I charge you nothing. If burglars should break in and steal your money, I cannot be responsible. Do I make that clear to you?”
“Why, Mrs. Friestone, I have no fear of that sort; I only ask that you give me a receipt merely as a matter of record and to save you possible annoyance. Suppose anything should happen to me—such as my death—my folks would be put to great trouble to get this money.”
“That cannot possibly occur, for your name and the amount are written on the sealed envelope; I know every member of your family, and in the event you speak of I should hand it personally to some one of them. On no other condition will I take your money for safe keeping. Follow your own pleasure.”