§ 42 In Permanent Storage
Once upon a time, in the middle part of Georgia, there lived a banker who was known far and wide as the Human Safety Clutch. In his day he was accused of many things, but nobody ever charged him with being a spendthrift. His home was on a plantation a mile from town. One Sunday he remembered that he had left some important papers on his desk, and he gave an aged negro servitor on the place his keys and sent him for the documents.
It was a hot day and the road was dusty, but in an hour the old darky had returned with the papers intact. The owner felt in all his pockets, one after the other.
“That’s too bad, Uncle Jim,” he said finally; “I thought I had a nickel here that I was going to give you.”
“Cap’n Henry,” said Uncle Jim, “you look ag’in. Ef ever you had a nickel you got it yit.”