stopped to wipe his brow and to pull himself together for the coming
ordeal. A high-and-mighty young man who had been elevated from a
clerkship to the post of third assistant foreign teller, and who no
longer deemed it proper to associate with his erstwhile companions in
the "galleys," emerged from his cage and, coming abruptly upon the
shivering bookkeeper, blinked uncertainly for a moment and then said
in what was unmistakably a polite and even respectful tone:

"Good morning, Mr. Bingle. Pleasant day, sir, isn't it?"

If Mr. Bingle had been in a condition to notice such things as
miracles, he might have been struck by this one, but he merely said it
WAS a pleasant day and resumed his way, utterly oblivious to the fact
that a human being had been completely transformed before his very
eyes. A few steps farther on he encountered an even mightier force
than the third assistant foreign teller: the bank detective.

"Good morning, Mr. Bingle. Nice day, sir," said the bank detective,
somewhat eagerly, and stood aside to let the lowly bookkeeper pass
without being jostled--as was the custom.

"Morning," said Mr. Bingle, still unimpressed. It seemed to him that
every one was evincing a singular interest in the fact that he was
about to be discharged on a pleasant day.

Mr. Force was seated at his desk when Bingle entered the room and
found himself in the presence of the man who was certain to become
president when "the old man" died--an event that would have to occur
if the first vice-president's dream of elevation ever came true, for
there wasn't the remotest likelihood that he would have the sense of