"Yes," growled the cashier, in gruff despondency.

"Ah, that's awfully jolly. One of the finest fellows I've met in ten
years. Now, the lady said she was acquainted with him, so if I don't
wheedle an introduction out of him, it will show that a man at a
dinner and a man in a bank are two different individuals. You were
looking for plots; so there is mine laid bare to you. It's an
introduction, not gold, I'm conspiring for."

The cashier had nothing further to say. When they entered the bank
together he saw the clerks all busily at work, and knew that no
startling event had happened during his absence. The girl had gone
direct to the manager's room, and thither the young men followed her.
The bank manager was standing at his desk, trying to preserve a severe
financial cast of countenance, which the twinkle in his eyes belied.
The girl, also standing, had evidently been giving him a rapid sketch
of what had occurred, but now fell into silence when accuser and
accomplice appeared.

The advent of the Englishman was a godsend to the manager. He was too
courteous a gentleman to laugh in the face of a lady who very
seriously was relating a set of incidents which appealed to his sense
of humor, so the coming of the Lieutenant enabled him to switch off
his mirth on another subject, and in reply to the officer's cordial
"Good-morning, Mr. Morton," he replied:

"Why, Lieutenant, I'm delighted to see you. That was a very jolly song
you sang for us last night: I'll never forget it. What do you call it?
Whittington Fair?" And he laughed outright, as at a genial