ning to go to a Western State as she said, for the sake of her
health, which had been declining since the day of the Deacon's funeral.

One day when Mrs. Gramps was in Dobbinsville making preparations for the
trip West, she called at the People's State Bank and presented a check
drawn on a Western bank and signed by James Duncan. When the cashier had
cashed her check and she had left the bank, he turned to his assistant
and said, "Jim, do you know what Deacon Gramps' name was?"

"J.D. Gramps," responded the assistant.

"I know J.D. were his initials," said the cashier, "but what does J.D.
stand for?"

"Oh, I don't remember," answered the assistant. "I suppose we could
find out by looking up some of his old papers that we still have in the
vault."

"Look up that old mortgage that Gramps had on the Widow Smith's little
farm," ordered the cashier.

A ponderous file was pulled from a shelf in the vault and the two men
began to search the musty and dusty old documents of bygone days. At
last they found the mortgage. There they found the Deacon's name written
out in full--James Duncan Gramps. The cashier of the People's State Bank
had a curious twinkle in his eye as he looked at his assistant. "Jim, do
you know, I have a suspicious feeling about this here Gramps
proposition," he remarked. The assistant looked astonished. He had
supposed all this time that the cashier was interested in the Deacon's
full name from some official standpoint. The cashier went on: "Widow
Gramps was just in here a few minutes ago and cashed a check drawn by a
man by the name of James Duncan. I have a suspicion that Deacon Gramps
is still living and that this James Duncan is no other than James Duncan
Gramps, and he is checking out of a Western bank money which Mrs. Gramps
received from the insurance company in New York."

"Surely that could not be," responded the assistant. "Suppose we compare
the handwriting on the check that you just cashed with the handwriting
on these old papers." After a close comparison of the two specimens of
handwriting, the men decided that their resemblance was not sufficient
to prove anything.

"At any rate it will do no harm to investigate," remarked the cashier as
he closed the heavy door of the vault. "I shall turn the evidence over
to the insurance company in New York." That evening at sundown when
train Number 29 pulled out from the station at Dobbinsville and sped
eastward, it carried in its mailcoach a let