To begin with, every clerk and teller and errand-boy had to shake him by the hand and hear all about it. And it was not for the money's sake. Old Mr. Bowdoin had been shrewd enough to guess what only thing could make the clerk want so much liberty; and the news had leaked down to the others,—"that Jamie was going for his foreign mail."
"I hear you are going away," said one. "To Europe?" said another. "Blockade-running!" suggested a third. "For cotton."
"I—I am going to the tropics," stammered Jamie. He had but a clouded notion how far south New Orleans might be.
"I told you so," laughed the teller.
"Bring us all a bale or two."
Jamie laughed; to the amazement of the bank, Jamie laughed.
When the cashier went to lunch, Jamie stole a chance to get into the vault alone. And there, out of every pocket, with trembling fingers, he pulled a little roll of Spanish gold. Then the delight of sorting and arranging them in the old chest! He had one side for pistoles, and this now was full; and even the doubloon side showed less than the empty
