"I can write a letter and sign it," said Jimmy, explaining how he had outfoxed the ticket seller.
"Won't work with checks, Jimmy. For me now, if I was to be polite and dressed right they might cash a twenty if I showed up with my social security card, driver's license, identification card with photograph sealed in, and all that junk. But a kid hasn't got a chance. Look, Jimmy, I'm sorry for this morning. To-morrow morning we'll go over to my bank and I'll have them cash it for you. It's yours. You earned it and you keep it. Okay? Are we friends again?"
"Yes sir."
Gravely they shook hands. "Watch the place, kid," said Jake. "I got to make a phone call."
In the morning, Jake dressed for business and insisted that Jimmy put on his best to make a good impression. After breakfast, they set out. Jake parked in front of a granite building.
"This isn't any bank," objected Jimmy. "This is a police station."
"Sure," responded Jake. "Here's where we get you an identification card. Don't you know?"
"Okay," said Jimmy dubiously.
Inside the station there were a number of men in uniform and in plain clothing. Jake strode forward, holding Jimmy by one small hand. They approached the sergeant's desk and Jake lifted Jimmy up and seated him on one edge of the desk with his feet dangling.
The sergeant looked at them with interest but without surprise.