"It's in the safe there, in a box. Mr. Stanchion, please get down the old tin box marked 'James Bowdoin's Sons;' there are the papers. The child's other grandfather, one Romolo Soto, gave it me himself, in 1829. I myself had it put in this bank the next day. Here is the receipt: 'James Bowdoin's Sons, one chest said to contain Spanish gold. Amount not specified.' I'll take it, if you please."
"The amount must be specified somewhere."
"The amount was duly entered on the books of James Bowdoin's Sons, Tom Pinckney; and their books are no business of yours, unless you doubt our credit. Would you like a written statement?" and Mr. Bowdoin puffed himself up and glared at his old friend.
"Here is the chest, sir," said Mr. Stanchion suavely. "Have you the key?"
"No, sir; Mr. McMurtagh has the key," and Mr. Bowdoin stalked from the office.
XV.
Then old Mr. Bowdoin, with the box under his arm, hurried down to Salem Street. Jamie
