'Well, the fact is, Mr Finsbury, you see we are rather surprised at
receiving this,' said the other, flicking at the cheque. 'There are no
effects.'
'No effects?' cried Morris. 'Why, I know myself there must be
eight-and-twenty hundred pounds, if there's a penny.'
'Two seven six four, I think,' replied the gentlemanly man; 'but it was
drawn yesterday.'
'Drawn!' cried Morris.
'By your uncle himself, sir,' continued the other. 'Not only that, but
we discounted a bill for him for--let me see--how much was it for, Mr
Bell?'
'Eight hundred, Mr Judkin,' replied the teller.
'Bent Pitman!' cried Morris, staggering back.
'I beg your pardon,' said Mr Judkin.
'It's--it's only an expletive,' said Morris.
'I hope there's nothing wrong, Mr Finsbury,' said Mr Bell.
'All I can tell you,' said Morris, with a harsh laugh,' is that the
whole thing's impossible. My uncle is at Bournemouth, unable to move.'
'Really!' cried Mr Bell, and he recovered the cheque from Mr Judkin.
'But this cheque is dated in London, and today,' he observed. 'How d'ye
account for that, sir?'
'O, that was a mistake,' said Morris, and a deep tide of colour dyed his
face and neck.
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