the bank's policemen. "Tom, what do you make of this?"

The policeman shrugged. He stooped down to Jimmy's level. "Where did you
get this check, young fellow?" he asked gently.

"It came in the mail this morning."

"You're Jimmy James?"

"Yes sir." Jimmy Holden had been called that for more than half a year;
his assent was automatic.

"How old are you, young man?" asked the policeman kindly.

"Five and a half."

"Isn't that a bit young to be writing stories?"

Jimmy bit his lip. "I wrote it, though."

The policeman looked up at the teller with a wink. "He can tell a good
yarn," chuckled the policeman. "Shouldn't wonder if he could write one."

The teller laughed and Jimmy's eyes burned again. "It's mine," he
insisted.

"If it's yours," said the policeman quietly, "we can settle it fast
enough. Do your folks have an account here?"

"No sir."