"I might talk to Mr. Longman, perhaps?"

"Mr. Longman is on a trip to the Coast."

Johnson twisted his fingers nervously on the onyx sill. Then he raised
his downcast eyes, lit with a fresh hope.

"Is--is the janitor in?" he asked.

"You are pleased to be facetious, sir," the teller replied. His lip
curled; he turned away, tilting his chin with conscious dignity.

Mr. Johnson tapped the sill with the finger of authority.

"Young man, do you want I should throw this bank out of the window?" he
said severely. "Because if you don't, you uncover some one a grown man
can do business with. You're suffering from delusions of grandeur, fair
young sir. I almost believe you have permitted yourself to indulge in
some levity with me--me, P. Wallace Johnson! And if I note any more
light-hearted conduct on your part I'll shake myself and make merry with
you till you'll think the roof has done fell on you. Now you dig up the
Grand Panjandrum, with the little round button on top, or I'll come in
unto you! Produce! Trot!"

The cashier's dignity abated. Mr. Johnson was, by repute, no stranger
to him. Not sorry to pass this importunate borrower on to other hands,
he tapped at a door labeled "Vice-President," opened it, and said
something in a low voice. From this room a man emerged at once--Marsh,
vice-president, solid of body, strong of brow. Clenched between heavy