The cashier, as it chanced, was busy with some one else. Calmly and patiently the girl waited. Finally the other customer went away, and the girl pushed respectfully up to the railing and stood under the sharp eyes of the bank official.
“What can I do for you?” asked the cashier briskly.
“This will explain, I think,” said the girl, presenting the colonel’s order for the bullion.
The cashier glanced at the order, then gave the girl a keen scrutiny.
“You are Joe McGlory, are you?” he queried.
“Yes.”
“Are you personally acquainted with the gentleman who sent you this order?”
“I am.”
It was a pity, indeed, that Dimmock should have forced his daughter into such a tangle of deception; and doubly a pity that one so young and fair could have played the despicable part so boldly, and given her false answers without a tremor, or a pang of conscience.
“Have you any other means of identifying yourself?” went on the cashier.