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 her the better for it. Not only was she stopping at our best, the Blackstone, but she had her own maid. "Doris Wellington and maid!"

She'd come in that morning from Denver; at least that was what she'd told the hotel. She was checking out to leave for New York by the Century that noon.

The hotel people, knowing me, naturally supposed me her friend. If she heard of my inquiry, I didn't know what she'd suppose, so I asked them not to mention it; and I beat it over to my bank to make ready for contingencies in case it proved true that she was on her way to New York by the Century.

Also I wanted to work up a little knowledge on the counterfeiting game; and I knew just the man to help me. Almost every big bank has its money crank. Old Wally Bailey holds the post at mine. His father founded the place and he has so much stock that, if the others won't make him vice-president, he'll have himself elected chief; so they all vote him vice, unanimously, at every election and put in half their thought between times at keeping him so busy at other ideas that he can't gum up the banking game by having any time for business.

They thank God over there whenever a well