Thus challenged, the Presence lifted itself, becoming to the full Bradley Collingham, the distinguished banker, philanthropist, and American citizen, so widely and favorably known for his sympathetic personality. The essence of these traits rang in the appealing quality of his tone.
"What do you think, Follett? I told you then that you were not earning your salary. You haven't been earning it since. What can I do?"
"I could work harder, sir. I could stay overtime, when none of the young fellows want to."
"That wouldn't do any good, Follett. It isn't the way we do business."
"I've been five years with you, sir, and all my life between one banking house and another, in this country and Canada. In my humble way I've helped to build the banking business up."
"And you've been paid, haven't you? I really don't see that you've anything to complain of."
There was no severity in this response. It was made only because the necessities of the case required it, as Follett had the justice to perceive.
"I'm not complaining, sir. I only don't see how I'm going to live."
The voice already distressed became more so.
"But that isn't my affair, is it, now? I'm running a business, not a charitable institution. It isn't as if you'd been with us twenty or thirty years. You've shifted about a good deal in your time——"