t' put up this money
in cash--to-night."

The banker ruminated for a few minutes. Experience had told him that
with a certain class of men money in bills was more valuable than
money in a cheque or draft. The very bulk of the currency seemed to
impress them. He had seen an old-timer refuse a twelve-hundred-dollar
marked cheque for his property, and yet surrender greedily at the
sight of a thousand one-dollar bills piled on a table before him.
This was a trait of human nature found in many persons unaccustomed
to the handling of considerable sums of money, and sharp traders
considered it good business to take advantage of it. The banker
thought he understood why Harris wanted all the money in bills,
although the sum was larger than he had ever seen handled in that way
before.

A young man emerged from somewhere and locked the front door of the
bank.

"It's closing time now," said the teller, addressing the manager. "We
have enough cash on hand to pay this gentleman, and we can wire for
more bills, which will reach us in time for to-morrow's business."

"Pay it, then," said the manager. "Mr. Harris has a right to his
money in that form if he wants it. But," he added, turning to Harris,
"I'd advise you to keep both eyes on it until your transaction is
completed."

The counting of the money was a bigger task than either Harris or
Allan had thought, but at last it was completed, and they were ready
for the road. The banker looked after their buggy as it faded out of
sight up the river road.

"Hang me if I like that!" he said to himself.

The long drive up the valley in the warm August afternoon was an
experience for the soul of painter or poet. Even John and Allan
Harris, schooled as they were in the religion of material things,
felt something within them responding to the air, and the sunlight,
and the dark green banks of trees, and the sound of rushing water,
and the purple-blue mountains heaving and receding before them. The
sweat trickled in narrow tongues down the backs of their horses,
reminding them that the ascent was much steeper than it appeared. As
they topped each new ridge they looked expectantly forward to a
greater revelation of the mountains, but this was constantly denied
by ever-recurring successions of ridges still ahead. The long, smooth
swell of the plain gradually gave way to the more abrupt formations
of the foothills, and here and there in their rounded domes protruded
great warts of green