He took it with him to the nearest bank, feeling its folded bulk and
running a fingernail along the serrated edge.

He re-read it in the bank, then went to a teller's window. "Can you cash
this, please?" he asked.

The teller turned it over. "It isn't endorsed."

"I can't reach the desk to sign it," complained Jimmy.

"Have you an account here?" asked the teller politely.

"Well, no sir."

"Any identification?"

"No--no sir," said Jimmy thoughtfully. Not a shred of anything did he
have to show who he was under either name.

"Who is this Jimmy James?" asked the teller.

"Me. I am."

The teller smiled. "And you wrote a short story that sold to _Boy's
Magazine_?" he asked with a lifted eyebrow. "That's pretty good for a
little guy like you."

"Yes sir."

The teller looked over Jimmy's head; Jimmy turned to look up at one of