Here the cashier signed to Dick to rise and show himself. Our hero accordingly did so.
“You will be glad to find that he has recovered,” said the cashier, pointing to Dick.
With an exclamation of anger and dismay, Travis, who saw the game was up, started for the door, feeling that safety made such a course prudent. But he was too late. He found himself confronted by a burly policeman, who seized him by the arm, saying, “Not so fast, my man. I want you.”
“Let me go,” exclaimed Travis, struggling to free himself.
“I’m sorry I can’t oblige you,” said the officer. “You’d better not make a fuss, or I may have to hurt you a little.”
Travis sullenly resigned himself to his fate, darting a look of rage at Dick, whom he considered the author of his present misfortune.
“This is your book,” said the cashier, handing back his rightful property to our hero. “Do you wish to draw out any money?”
“Two dollars,” said Dick.
“Very well. Write an order for the amount.”
Before doing so, Dick, who now that he saw Travis in the power of the law began to pity him, went up to the officer, and said,—