Before recess came, the principal having a period free from class work, silently escaped from the building, carrying the thirty-six hundred pennies to the bank. As that number of pennies weighs something more than twenty-three pounds, the load was not a light one.
"I have a big lot of pennies here that I want to deposit," he explained to the receiving teller.
"How many?" asked the teller.
"Thirty-six hundred," replied Mr. Cantwell.
"Are they counted and done up into rolls of fifty, with your name on each roll?" asked the teller.
"Why—-er—-no," stammered the principal. "They're just loose—-in bulk, I mean."
"Then I'm very sorry, Mr. Cantwell, but we can't receive them in that shape, sir. They will have to be counted and wrapped, and your name written on each roll."
"Do you mean to say that I must take these pennies home, count them all—-again!—-and then wrap them and sign the wrappers."
"I'm sorry, but you, or some one will have to do it, Mr. Cantwell."
Then and there the principal exploded. One man there was in the bank at that moment who was obliged to turn his head away and stifle back the laughter. That man was Mr. Pollock, of "The Blade." Pollock knew now what Dick & Co. had wanted of such a cargo of pennies.