"Even if I come and want it, don't you let me have it." That was when Jim was himself; but when he had gone for a playday, he came rip-roariously home, time and again, and demanded his book, to get more money for drink.

The scrimmages that grandmother had with him about that book would have been highly ludicrous if a vein of tragedy had not run underneath them.
One cause of Jim's inconsistent behavior about his bank account was the bad company he fell into on his playdays.

After he had imbibed somewhat, those boon companions would urge him to go home and get his bank book; for under the influence of drink Jim was a noisy talker and likely to boast of his savings.
None of us, except grandmother, knew where Jim's bank book was, and after one memorable experience with him the old lady always disappeared when she saw him drive in.

The second time, Jim actually searched the house for his book; but grandmother had taken it and stolen away to a neighbor's house.

Once or twice afterwards Jim came and searched for his book; and I remember that the old Squire had doubts whether it was best for us to withhold it from him.