llars and appended
were the names of John Caruthers and Samuel Lyman.

"Understand, Sammy, that I don't want you to pay it; I simply want you
to know that the feller has used your name wrong."

"It is a forgery," said Lyman.

"Yes, that's what I have been believing for some time past, but I
didn't say anything about it to mother. When you went out that day he
comes to me and says, 'We must have a hundred dollars and though we
don't like to do it we have to appeal to you. Lyman says that he
hasn't the heart to ask, so he has put it off on me.' And so, I
snatches out my wallet and lets him have the money. But I don't ask
you to pay it, Sammy."

"Why, my dear old friend, do you suppose I would let you lose it? I
can pay it without a flinch; more than that, if you are in need of
money, I can let you have five times as much." He tucked the note into
his pocket and took up his check-book.

"Why, Sammy, I don't know whuther to laugh or to cry or to holler when
you talk like that. But I don't need no money, and especially none
that you have raked together."

"But you must take this," said Lyman, handing him a check. "It's the
first check I ever made out," he added, laughing.

"Then you ain't been rich very long, Sammy," said the old man, taking
the piece of paper. "But you've writ this in jest like you are used to
it. You can't write as well, however, as Blake Peel. I reckon he's the
finest writer in this country. Why, he can make a bird with a pen, and
it looks like it's jest ready to fly--he's teached writin' school all
up and down the creek, and I reckon he's the best. But I'm sorry about
this thing, and I don't feel like takin' it."

"You've got to take it."

"Then I must. But you know where it is any time you want it," he said,
putting the check into his pocket. "And now, Sammy, what are you going
to do with that feller? The note wasn't signed as a firm, but your
names was put on individual, and as you didn't write your name he
forged it. What are you goin' to do with him?"

"I don't know. Here comes Warren. Don't say anything more about it
now."

Warren came in. "Uncle Buckley," said he, "here is a cigar that will
make you forget your woes."

"Thank you, my son. I don't believe I've got time to smoke jest now.
I'll take this thing home and crumble it up and mother and I will
smoke it in our pipes."

Warren staggered. "Gracious alive, don't do that!" he cried.

"All right, my son, I'll set out on a stump