“That does not concern you,” said Ford, haughtily.  “Don’t I give them to you?”

“But where did you get them?”

“That is my business.  If you don’t want them, say the word, and I’ll take them back.”

“And when will you pay the money?”

“I don’t know,” answered Ford, curtly.

“Maybe he’ll sell ’em for us himself,” suggested Tom Calder.

“Good, Tom!  Why can’t you sell ’em and give me the money?  Then you can pay the exact sum and save the forty dollars.”

“I don’t choose to do so,” said Ford.  “It seems to me you are treating me in a very strange manner.  I offer you more than I owe you, and you make no end of objections to receiving it.”

“I am afraid I’ll get into trouble if I offer the bonds for sale,” said Morrison, doggedly.  “I don’t know anybody in the business except you.”

“Yes, you do,” said Ford, a bright idea occurring to him.

“Who?”

“You know the boy in our office.”

“Grant Thornton?” said Tom.

“Yes, Grant Thornton.  Manage to see him, and ask him to dispose of the bonds for you.  He will bring them to our office, and I will dispose of them without asking any questions.”

“First rate!” said Tom.  “That’ll do, won’t it, Jim?”

“I don’t see why it won’t,” answered Morrison, appearing satisfied.

“I would suggest that you see him some time today.”

“Good!  Hand over the bonds.”

Willis Ford had already separated the bonds into two parcels, six hundred in one and four hundred in the other.  The first of these he passed over to Jim Morrison.

“Put it into your pocket at once,” he said.  “We don’t want anyone to see them.  There is a telegraph boy looking at us.”

“I’m going to see if it is all there,” muttered Morrison; and he drew from the envelope the two bonds, and ascertained, by a personal inspection, that they were as represented.

“It’s all right,” he said.

“You might have taken my word for it,” said Willis Ford, offended.

“In matters of business I take no one’s word,” chuckled the confidence man.

“I wonder what they’re up to,” said the little telegraph boy to himself.  “I know one of them fellers is a gambler.  Wonder who that feller with him is?  Them must be gov’ment bonds.”

Johnny Cavanagh was an observing boy, and mentally photographed upon his memory the faces of the entire group, though he never expected to see any of them again.

When Grant was hurrying through Wall Street about noon he came upon Tom Calder and Morrison.

“Hello, there, Grant,” said Tom, placing his hand upon his shoulder.

“What’s the matter, Tom?  I’m in a hurry,” said Grant.

“Jim Morrison’s got a little business for you.”

“What is it?”

“He wants you to sell gov’ment bonds for him.”

“You’d better take them round to our office.”