"Boyish old chap."
"Yes, isn't he?" said Mendenhall, folding his paper. "I sold him a
pretty stiff bill of goods this morning. Warmish, I take it. He's
going to settle here."
"Friend of yours?"
"Oh, no, I never saw him before."
"Why, you indorsed his check for twelve hundred and fifty," said
the president, interested, but not alarmed. Doubtless the man had
references. Besides, his face was a letter of credit in itself.
"Oh, yes," said Mendenhall unsuspiciously, thinking of the check sent
to the Farmers' and Citizens' Bank. The president, thinking of the
other, was fully reassured, and was about to pass on. Here the
matter might have dropped, and would in most cases. But Mendenhall, a
methodical and careful man, wished to vindicate his business prudence
by explaining that he had taken no risk in indorsing for a stranger,
since he retained possession of the goods.
The rest is too painful.
"I do not rhyme for that dull wight" who does not foresee that New
York, Chicago and Denver checks were returned in due course, legibly
inscribed with the saddest words of tongue or pen, "No funds." Or that
Mr. Britt fully justified his self-given reputation for absence of
mind by neglecting to call for his furniture.
Meanwhile, Mr. Britt unostentatiously absented his body as well,
taking the trolley for an inland village.
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