'em out of here if I don't get better service."

"No, Uncle Arthur, he isn't a banker--isn't even a broker; he's
only a paying teller in a bank," continued Jack.

The older man turned his head and a look of surprise swept over
his round, fat face.

"Teller in a BANK?" he asked in an altered tone.

"Yes, the most charming, the most courteous old gentleman I have
ever met; I haven't seen anybody like him since I left home, and,
just think, he has promised to come and see me to-night."

The drooping lips straightened and a shrewd, searching glance shot
from Arthur Breen's eyes. There was a brain behind this sleepy
face--as many of his competitors knew. It was not always in
working order, but when it was the man became another personality.

"Jack--" The voice was now as thin as the drawn lips permitted,
with caution in every tone, "you stop short off. You mustn't
cotton to everybody you pick up in New York--it won't do. Get you
into trouble. Don't bring him here; your aunt won't like it. When
you get into a hole with a fellow and can't help yourself, take
him to the club. That's one of the things I got you into the
Magnolia for; but don't ever bring 'em here."

"But he's a personal friend of Mr. Morris, and a friend of another
friend of Mr. Morris's they called 'Major.'" It was not the first
time he had heard such inhospitable suggestions from his uncle.