"Say, George,—who told you I had any dough?"
"Oh! I knew you had, Jake. Everybody in Golden Crescent knows. But, to be honest, the minister told me,—in the hope that I would be able to induce you to place it in safety somewhere."
Jake became confident, a most unusual condition for him.
"Well, George,—I can trust you,—you're straight. I got something near ten thousand bucks in that brass chest. I don't need it, but still I ain't givin' it away. I had to grub damned hard to get it. It's kind o' good to know you ain't ever likely to be a candidate for some Old Men's Home."
"It is indeed," I replied, "and I admire you for having saved so much. But won't you put it into the bank, where it is absolutely safe for you? It is a positive temptation to some men, lying around here.
"The bank will give you a receipt for the money; you can draw on it when you wish and it will be earning three per cent or three hundred dollars a year for you all the time it is there."
He pondered for a while, then he dismissed the subject.
"No! Guess I'll keep it by me. No more banks for mine. I ain't so strong as I used to be and I guess three months in the coop would just about make me cash in. I ain't takin' no more chances."
Jake's method of reasoning was amusing. After all, it was no affair of mine and, now that I had unburdened myself, I felt conscience clear.
As I rose to leave, he started to talk again.