"I would rather not," said Bob, drawing back the receipt from Wolverton's extended hand.
"That's enough!" said Wolverton quickly. "You are afraid to show it. I denounce it as a base forgery."
"That will do no good," said the boy, un-terrified. "I have shown the receipt to Mr. Dornton, and he pronounces the signature genuine."
"What made you show it to him?" asked Wolverton, discomfited.
"Because I thought it likely, after your demanding the interest the second time, that you would deny it."
"Probably I know my own signature better than Mr. Dornton can."
"I have no doubt you will recognize it," and Bob, unfolding the paper, held it in such a manner that Wolverton could read it.
"It may be my signature; it looks like it," said Wolverton, quickly deciding upon a new evasion, "but it was never delivered to your father."
"How then do you account for its being written?" asked Mrs. Burton, in natural surprise.
"I made it out on the day your husband died," Wolverton answered glibly, "anticipating that he would pay the money. He did not do it, and so the receipt remained in my desk."