friend of the bank's president, and had known Dorsey since he was
a baby.

While the examiner was counting the cash, Major Thomas B.
Kingman--known to every one as "Major Tom"--the president of the
First National, drove up to the side door with his old dun horse and
buggy, and came inside. He saw the examiner busy with the money,
and, going into the little "pony corral," as he called it, in which
his desk was railed off, he began to look over his letters.

Earlier, a little incident had occurred that even the sharp eyes of
the examiner had failed to notice. When he had begun his work at the
cash counter, Mr. Edlinger had winked significantly at Roy Wilson,
the youthful bank messenger, and nodded his head slightly toward the
front door. Roy understood, got his hat, and walked leisurely out,
with his collector's book under his arm. Once outside, he made a
bee-line for the Stockmen's National. That bank was also getting
ready to open. No customers had, as yet, presented themselves.

"Say, you people!" cried Roy, with the familiarity of youth and long
acquaintance, "you want to get a move on you. There's a new bank
examiner over at the First, and he's a stem-winder. He's counting
nickles on Perry, and he's got the whole outfit bluffed. Mr.
Edlinger gave me the tip to let you know."

Mr. Buckley, president of the Stockmen's National--a stout, elderly
man, looking like a farmer dressed for Sunday--heard Roy from his
private office at the rear and called him.

"Has Major Kingman come down to the bank yet?" he asked of the boy.