“Yes—­yes, I will, I promise you.  I shall keep one hand in my pocket, holding the pocketbook with the certificate in it, until I get to the office.  I shall think of nothing else.”

“Mercy me, think of somethin’ else, please!  Think of yourself when you’re goin’ across those Boston streets or you’ll be run over.  I declare, I don’t know as I ought to let you go.”

“Oh, I shall be quite safe, quite.  But, really,” he added, with a puzzled smile, “I can’t tell you how odd this seems.  When I was a boy my Aunt Clarissa, I remember, used to caution me about—­about crossing the streets, and so on.  It makes me feel quite young again to have you do it, Miss Martha.  I assure you it does.”

Martha regarded him gravely.

“Hasn’t anybody since ever told you to be careful?” she asked; “anybody since your aunt died, I mean?”

“Why, no, I think not.  I presume,” he added, with the air of one suggesting a happy explanation, “I presume no one has—­ah—­been sufficiently interested.  It would have been peculiar if they had been, of course.”

“Hum! . . .  Well, I hope you won’t think I am impudent for remindin’ you to look out.”

“Oh, no, indeed.  It is very nice of you to take the trouble.  I like it, really I do.”

The office of Cabot, Bancroft and Cabot was closed when his train reached Boston, so he went to a hotel and remained there over-night.  But he was on hand at the banking office early the next morning.  In the interval he had time for more reflection and, as a result, he determined not to go to Mr. Barbour with his business.  The fear that knowledge of what he was about to do would reach Cousin Gussie’s ears was strong upon him.  Doubtless it was a fact that he had a right to do what he pleased with his own money, but it was also a fact that Cousin Gussie seemed to think he had no such right.  Barbour was the Cabot secretary, or assistant secretary, so decidedly it was best not to go to Barbour.

It was Minor whom he saw as he entered the banking house and to Minor he divulged his business.  Taking from his pocketbook the Tinplate check, he asked if he might have it—­ah—­broken up, so to speak.

“You see,” he explained, “I want to get—­ah—­five thousand dollars.”

Minor appeared rather puzzled at first, and Mr. Bangs’ tangled and nervous explanations did not seem to enlighten him greatly.  At last, however, he caught the idea.

“I see,” he said.  “You don’t want to deposit and draw against it; you want two checks instead of one.  One check for five thousand and the other for the balance.”

“Yes, yes, yes,” assented Galusha, much relieved.  “That is it, exactly.  I am very much obliged to you—­indeed I am—­yes.”

Minor took him to one of the windows and introduced him to the clerk at the desk behind it.

“Give Mr. Bangs whatever he wants,” he said.

Galusha explained.  The clerk asked how he would have the five-thousand-dollar check made out.