At first he was
inclined to look upon it as a poor substitute for hard cash; but after
the foreman had explained its mysteries, and taught him to sign his name
in magic tracery, he became more than reconciled to it and drew cheques
blithely, until one for five pounds was returned to a creditor: no
funds--and in due course returned to Happy Dick.
"No good?" he said to the creditor, looking critically at the piece of
paper in his hands. "Must have been writ wrong. Well, you've only
yourself to blame, seeing you wrote it"; then added magnanimously,
mistaking the creditor's scorn: "Never mind, write yourself out another.
I don't mind signing 'em."
The foreman and the creditor spent several hours trying to explain
banking principles, but Dick "couldn't see it." "There's stacks of 'em
left!" he persisted, showing his book of fluttering bank cheques.
Finally, in despair, the foreman took the cheque-book into custody, and
Dick found himself poor once more.
But it was only for a little while. In an evil hour he discovered that a
cheque from another man's book answered all purposes if it bore that
magic tracery, and Happy Dick was never solvent again.
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