"Then why did he put Pedders' name on his list?" demands Steele.
"Maybe he thought sendin' on the bonds would clear up the mess," says I. "So it would, if they hadn't come a day or two late and got stowed away here. And here they've been for twenty years!"
"Yes, and quite as valuable to the bank as if they'd been in the vaults," sneers J. Bayard. "That Water Level stock never was worth the paper it was printed on, any more than it is now."
"We'll make it useful, then," says I. "Why, it's got Aladdin's lamp beat four ways for Wednesday! These bonds go to Pedders. Then Pedders shaves off his whiskers, puts on his Sunday suit, braces his shoulders back, walks down to the bank, and chucks this bunch of securities at 'em triumphant."
"But if the bank is still out a hundred and fifty thousand," objects Steele, "I don't see how——"
"They ain't out a cent," says I. "We'll find a customer for these bonds."
"Who?" says he.
"J. Bayard Steele," says I. "Ain't you actin' for a certain party that would have wanted it done?"
"By Jove!" says he. "Shorty, you've hit it! Why, I'd never have thought of——"
"No," says I; "you're still seein' only that twenty per cent commission. Well, you get that. But I want to see the look in Mrs. Pedders' eyes when she hears the news."