then continued: “May I ask you to explain more definitely?”
“The securities were taken by me,” repeated the major. “It was not for my own use, but to save an old friend in trouble. Come in here, sir, and we’ll talk it over.”
He led the examiner into the bank’s private office at the rear, and closed the door. There was a desk, and a table, and half-a-dozen leather-covered chairs. On the wall was the mounted head of a Texas steer with horns five feet from tip to tip. Opposite hung the major’s old cavalry saber that he had carried at Shiloh and Fort Pillow.
Placing a chair for Nettlewick, the major seated himself by the window, from which he could see the post-office and the carved limestone front of the Stockmen’s National. He did not speak at once, and Nettlewick felt, perhaps, that the ice should be broken by something so near its own temperature as the voice of official warning.
“Your statement,” he began, “since you have failed to modify it, amounts, as you must know, to a very serious thing. You are aware, also, of what my duty must compel me to do. I shall have to go before the United States Commissioner and make———”
“I know, I know,” said Major Tom, with a wave of his hand. “You don’t suppose I’d run a bank without being posted on national banking laws and the revised statutes! Do your duty. I’m not asking any favours. But, I spoke of my friend. I did want you to hear me tell you about Bob.”
