"The old man carefully blotted a hundred-dollar green and away we
goes to a bank. It was a sure-enough bank. Outside was the name
in big letters and inside was the man called 'teller' that won't
tell you nothin' and looks as if he hated you, like all good banks
has.

"'Fives and tens for this, please,' says my friend. That teller
never quit thinkin' of his dyspepsy, but chucked the stuff right
over the counter.

"'How's that?' says my friend, when we got outside.

"'All right,' says I. 'And here's my plunder.' I let him heft the
bag.

"'Heavy truck, ain't it?' he said. 'But we can always stand the
weight, can't we?' He picked out one of them glitterin' Chinese
works of art and regarded it real lovin'. 'Yes,' says he, 'it's
sure nice stuff. Hurry along and we'll close the dicker.'

"Up-stairs the old gent had the money ready for me to count.

"'Correct?' says he.

"'Ya-a-as,' says I.

"'Well, I'll put 'em in a neat bundle for you,' says he. When that
was done I handed my precious gold over.

"'Now, come here and have one last drink of satisfaction,' says my