“Can’t you read?” asked Tod. “The cheque is upon the Worcester Old Bank. You know it well by reputation, I presume?”
The clerk whisked into a small kind of box, divided from the office by glass, where sat a bald-headed gentleman writing at a desk full of pigeon-holes. A short conference, and then the latter came to us, holding the cheque in his hand.
“We will send and present this at Worcester,” he said; “and shall get an answer the day after to-morrow. No doubt we shall then be able to give you the money.”
“Why can’t you give it me now?” asked Tod, in rather a fiery tone.
“Well, sir, we should be happy to do it; but it is not our custom to cash cheques for strangers.”
“Do you fear the cheque will not be honoured?” flashed Tod. “Why, I have five hundred pounds lying there! Do you suppose I want to cheat you?”
“Oh, certainly not,” said the banker, with suavity. “Only, you see, we cannot break through our standing rules. Call upon us the day after to-morrow, and doubtless the money will be ready.”
Tod came away swearing. “The infamous upstarts!” cried he. “To refuse to cash my cheque! Johnny, it’s my belief they take us for a couple of adventurers.”
The money came in due course. After receiving it from the cautious banker, we went straight to Rose Lodge, pelting back from St. Ann’s at a fine pace. Tod signed the agreement, and paid the cash in good Bank of England notes. Captain Copperas brought out a bottle of champagne, which tasted uncommonly good to our thirsty throats. He was to leave Cray Bay that night on his way to Liverpool to take possession of his ship; Miss Copperas would leave on the morrow, and then we should go in. And Elizabeth, the grenadier, was to remain with us as servant. Miss Copperas recommended her, hearing Tod say he did not know where to look for one. We bargained with her to keep up a good supply of pies, and to pay her twenty shillings a month.