eturn to the bank, and await the
result of that furtive gesture with which Mr. Amzi Montgomery responded
to Phil Kirkwood's signal from the window of the photograph gallery. By
half-past four the clerks had concluded their day's work; the routine
letters to Chicago, Cincinnati, and Indianapolis correspondents had been
sealed and dispatched, and the vault locked by Mr. Montgomery's own
hand. Thereupon he retired to the back room, unlocked the Franklin
Street door and beguiled himself with the "Evening Star." Shortly before
five o'clock he heard light steps outside followed by a tap and Phil
opened and closed the door.

"Lo, Amy!"

She pronounced the _a_ long, after a fashion she had adopted in
childhood and refused to relinquish. Amzi was "A-mee" to Phil. She
glanced into the bank room, seized his newspaper, crunched it into a
football, and kicked it over the tellers' cages into the front window.
Then she pressed her uncle down into his chair, grasped his face in her
hands, and held him while she kissed him on the nose, the left eye, and
the right cheek, choosing the spot in every instance with provoking
deliberation as she held his wriggling head. He lost his cigar and his
spectacles were knocked awry, but he did not appear to be distressed.
Phil set his spectacles straight, struck a match for a fresh cigar, and
seated herself on the table.

"I'm back, Amy. How did you know we'd be home to-day?"

"Dreamed it," said Amzi, apparently relieved that her assaults upon his
peace and dignity were ended.

"I'd been watching for you half an hour before you came out on the
steps. I'd about given you up."

"So? You were pretty late getting home last night. Your father ought to
be ashamed of himself."

Amzi glared at Phil. His curiously large blue eyes could, at will,
express ferocity, and the red and purple in his face deepened as he shut
his jaws tight. She was not, however, in the least disturbed, not even
when he pushed back his chair to escape her swinging legs, and pointed
his finger at her threateningly.

"I wanted to see you," he gasped.

"So I inferred," Phil remarked, bending forward and compressing her lips
as though making a careful calculation, then touching the point of his
nose.

Amzi rubbed the outraged nose with the back of his hand, wheezed
hoarsely (the effect of the rain upon his asthma), and cleared his
throat.

"You'll come down from your high horse in a minute. I've got something
to tell you t