File:Lincoln centennial number (1909) (14775894361).jpg

Identifier: lincolncentenni00newy (find matches)
Title: Lincoln centennial number
Year: 1909 (1900s)
Authors:
Subjects: Lincoln, Abraham, 1809-1865 Lincoln, Abraham, 1809-1865 Trumbull, Lyman, 1813-1896 Presidents
Publisher: New York
Contributing Library: Lincoln Financial Foundation Collection
Digitizing Sponsor: The Institute of Museum and Library Services through an Indiana State Library LSTA Grant

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said a man was alwayscalm when he made a note, and mad as ahatter when he drew a check. KnowingHen, this looked plausible to me, and madea hit with the jury. The man that hol-lered Whay! wrote it down on his cuff. Ole Pete Hungerford, the note-shaver,snorted disdainfully that there was nodoubt that the note was genuine. Heswore that a bogus check I made wasgenuine, too; and got redder than a tur-key when he found I had made it, andsaid it was the work of a skilful forger.The man that hollered Whay! looked atme in horror, and wrote some more on hiscuff. I felt considerable cheap. Every expert said the same thing. Ibelieve that there was one while whenHen would have admitted he signed thenote if they had called him and rawhidedhim enough. Hen had some hopes whenZenas Whitcher of the Farmers Bankhad some doubts about one signature; buthe flattened out again when he found itwas the one on the letter that had oldZenas guessing, and that he was dead surethe one on the note was a sure-enough
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Drawn by Irma D6r6meaux HE DONT KNOW ABOUT IT; BUT SINCE NIGHT BEFORELAST I VE BEEN HIS SON-IN-LAW genuine sig, only it looked as if he wastrying to disguise his hand. Fillmoreseemed to think pretty well of this, andhad them all go back and swear about thisdisguise business. They could all seewiggly spots now and places gone overtwice where Hen had doubled on his trailto throw pursuers off the track and dis-guise his hand. It begun to look to melike Hen was up to some skulduggery,—all these smooth guys swearing like that,— but Hen was paying me my wages andneeded friends, and I stuck. He lookeddown his nose like an egg-sucking pup.When I came on to swear that it was notHens signature on the note, my mind wasso full of curlicues and pollywogs tailsand anger tremors, and disguises, and thegall of my swearing against these big menthat had money to burn, that I went intobuck fever, and was all shot to rags bySmythes cross examination, — any of youfellows would be,—so that I finall

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