The bank-officer took the book, and, after looking at it a moment, said, "How much do you want?"

 

"The whole of it," said Travis.

 

"You can draw out any part of it, but to draw out the whole requires a week's notice."

 

"Then I'll take a hundred dollars."

 

"Are you the person to whom the book belongs?"

 

"Yes, sir," said Travis, without hesitation.

 

"Your name is—"

 

"Hunter."

 

The bank-clerk went to a large folio volume, containing the names of depositors, and began to turn over the leaves. While he was doing this, he managed to send out a young man connected with the bank for a policeman. Travis did not perceive this, or did not suspect that it had anything to do with himself. Not being used to savings³ banks, he supposed the delay only what was usual. After a search, which was only intended to gain time that a policeman might be summoned, the cashier came back, and, sliding out a piece of paper to Travis, said, "It will be necessary for you to write an order for the money."

 

Travis took a pen, which he found on the ledge⁴ outside, and wrote the order, signing his name "Dick Hunter," having observed that name on the outside of the book.

 

"Your name is Dick Hunter, then?" said the cashier, taking the paper, and looking at the thief over his spectacles.

 

"Yes," said Travis, promptly⁵.

 

"But," continued the cashier, "I find Hunter's age is put down on the bank-book as fourteen. Surely you must be more than that."

 

Travis would gladly have declared that he was only fourteen; but, being in reality twenty-three, and possessing a luxuriant pair of whiskers, this was not to be thought of. He began to feel uneasy.

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