Then he put on his cap and overcoat and locked the grille door and the
bank door after he had passed each portal. His last chore of the day was
always a trip into the basement to make sure that the dying fire in the
wood furnace was carefully closed in for the night.

The basement stairs led from the rear of the corridor. When Vaniman
returned up the stairs he had settled on a small matter of business
which would serve as a valid excuse for entering the presence of
President Britt. But he did not need to employ the excuse. Britt stood
in his open door and called to the cashier and walked back to his chair,
leaving Vaniman to follow, and the employee obeyed the summons with
alacrity; he was consumed with desire to get a line on the situation
that had been troubling him.

An observer would have called the contest of mutual inspection a
fifty-fifty break--perhaps with a shade in favor of Britt, for the
usurer's face was like leather and his goggling marbles of eyes under
the lids that resembled little tents did not flicker.

"What can I do for you?" Britt demanded, and the query made for the
young man's discomposure.

"Why, you called me in, sir!"

"Uh-huh!" the president admitted, "but somehow I had the impression
that you said you wanted to see me after the bank closed." He was taking
account of stock of Vaniman's personality, his eyes going up and down
the stalwart figure and dwelling finally and persistently on the young
man's hair; it was copper-bronze in hue, it had an attractive wave,