“Yes, yes, yes,” assented Galusha, much relieved. “That is it, exactly. I am very much obliged to you—indeed I am—yes.”
Minor took him to one of the windows and introduced him to the clerk at the desk behind it.
“Give Mr. Bangs whatever he wants,” he said.
Galusha explained. The clerk asked how he would have the five-thousand-dollar check made out.
“In your own name?” he asked.
Mr. Bangs reflected. “Why—ah—” he stammered, “I should prefer it
in—ah—some other name, if possible. I should prefer that my name was
not connected with it, if you don't mind.”
“In the name of the person you intend paying it to?” inquired the clerk.
Galusha reflected again. If Martha Phipps' name were written on that check it would be possible that, some day or other, Cousin Gussie might see it. And if he saw it, questions would be asked, embarrassing questions.
“No-o,” he said, hesitatingly; “no, I think I should not care to have her—that is, to have that person's name appear, either. Isn't there some way by which the sum could be paid without any one's name appearing? A check to—to—oh, dear me! why CAN'T I think of it?”
“To bearer, you mean?”