He tried various hiding places, the drawers of his bureau, the table drawer, under the straw matting in the corner, but none seemed satisfactorily secure.  Under the matting was, at first thought, ideal, but, after secreting it there and getting into bed, he remembered that Martha had declared his room needed new matting and, if ever she could afford that cost, new matting it should have.  Having come into possession of five thousand dollars, she might feel that she could now afford it.  He climbed, shivering, out of bed again, resurrected the certificate and hid it under his pillow, an orthodox but safe hiding place for that night only.  The next morning he wrapped it in a summer undergarment and placed the said garment at the bottom of a pile of similar intimacies in his bureau drawer.  And each night of the following week, before retiring, he dug it out to make sure of its safety.

The day after her boarder’s return from Boston, Martha went over to Wellmouth Centre.  The bank there had charge of her account, such as it was, and she wished to have it take charge of the, to her, huge sum of real money which Mr. Bangs had brought.  She told the cashier that she was desirous of speaking with him on a matter of business, and he invited her into his little room at the end of the counter.  There she took from her “Boston bag” a brown paper parcel and, unwrapping the brown paper, disclosed the five thousand dollars.

Cashiers of small town banks know the true financial strength and weakness of dwellers in those towns, just as the doctors know their physical ones.  Mr. Edgar Thacher, which was the cashier’s name in this instance, knew how much of an estate Cap’n Jim Phipps had left his daughter and how that estate was divided as to investments.  So he was surprised when Martha revealed the money.

“Good land, Martha!” he exclaimed.  “What’s happened?  Haven’t gone into the counterfeiting trade, have you?”

Martha smilingly shook her head.  “No, Edgar,” she said.  “It’s too late in life for me to begin learnin’ new trades, I guess.  Just count that, will you, please?  I want to make sure it’s all there and that I didn’t really have only half of it and dream the rest.”

The cashier counted the money.  “Five thousand, I make it,” he said.

“That’s what it ought to be.  Now will you put that to my account?  I don’t know how long it’ll stay there—­the whole of it not very long, I’m afraid—­but it will be earnin’ a little interest while it does stay.”

“Yes, sure.  Well, Martha, it’s none of my business, of course, but, as long as you say you haven’t been counterfeiting, I wish you would give me your receipt for making money.  Anybody that can make five thousand in one lump these hard times is doing well.”