“Did he write this order?”
Old Jerry would have had no scruples about asserting that it was written by Paul, but he knew that the statement would at once be recognized as false, as he had himself written it in the presence of the cashier.
“N-no,” he admitted, reluctantly; “but it makes no difference; Paul is busy, and can’t come. He’s a telegraph boy. H-he wanted me to draw it for him.”
It will be seen that old Jerry’s conscience was elastic, and that he had no scruple about lying.
“That won’t answer,” replied the cashier, eying the old man suspiciously. “It is not according to our rules.”
“I—I want to use the money—that is, Paul does,” remonstrated old Jerry, disappointed.
“That makes no difference.”
“I—I’ll get Paul to write an order,” said Jerry, as he left the bank.
“That old man stole the boy’s book,” thought the cashier. “Now he is going home to forge an order in the boy’s name.”
That is exactly what old Jerry meant to do. He thought it best however, to wait till afternoon.