Once again came more favorable roads and pushing
the car to the limit the occupants were rejoiced, a little later,
as they topped a hill, to come in sight of a fairly large city.
"There's Clayton!" cried Mr. Damon.
Ten minutes later they were rolling through the main street,
and as they stopped in front of the bank, the noon whistles blew
shrill and noisily.
"You did it, Tom!" cried Mr. Damon, springing out with the
valise of securities. "Now be ready for the return trip. I'll be
with you as soon as possible."
He went up the bank steps three at a time, like some boy
instead of an elderly man. Tom looked after him for a second and
then got down to oil up his car, and make some adjustments that
had rattled loose from the rough road. Unmindful of the curious
throng that gathered he crawled under the machine with his oil-can.
He had finished his work, and was back in his seat, ready to
start, but Mr. Damon had not reappeared.
"It's taking him a good while to get that cash," thought Tom.
"Maybe the securities were no good."
But, a few minutes later, Mr. Damon came hurrying from the
bank. The valise he carried seemed much heavier than when he went
in.
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