“To be sure. I guess I’m beginning to understand what father was talking about when he said he milked the business. That fifty thousand of his would make a fine plug to put in this hole. But that’s gone. If I know father, he took it to make me hustle. His sense of humor works that way. Well, I’ll see what I can puzzle out, Grierson.”
Jim was in a measure prepared to be helmsman of his commercial ship, so far as the manufacturing and selling of his wares were concerned; but when the vessel entered financial waters, with a storm blowing and a tortuous channel to thread, he felt he ought to toot the whistle frantically and signal for a pilot. But there was no pilot to be had. There was nothing for it but to slow down and dodge through the reefs, taking frequent soundings with the lead of good judgment, striving with his eyes to pierce the vexed waters for hidden rocks. In short, the time had arrived to spread the bread of uncertainty with the butter of optimism.
He must have money. Two methods of procuring it presented themselves, but he liked the features of neither of them. The first was to borrow—if possible; the second, to sell stock. Without hesitation he eliminated the latter. He put on his hat, stopped long enough in the outer office to tell Grierson he was going to the bank, and went out.
He handed his card to Mr. Wills, cashier of the institution, and Mr. Wills shook hands with him in the manner that cashiers shake hands with individuals who are to deposit some hundreds of thousands of dollars a year with them.
“Glad to know you, Mr. Ashe. I was wondering when you’d find time to drop in to see us.”
“I hope you’ve got lots of money, now that I am here,” said Jim, with specious confidence.
“Enough to warrant us in locking the vault,” said Mr. Wills. “Anything special we can do for you to-day?”
“Well,” said Jim, “you could lend me a few dollars.”
“Your father said you might be wanting to borrow,” said Mr. Wills. “He had, as you know, of course, a conference with our board this spring, and we stand ready to do what we can for you. We’re a small bank, you know. Some of our directors were against making a loan of any size to a corporation, but Zaanan Frame and Mr. Moran were in favor—which wound up that ball of string. How much will you be wanting?”
“Thirty thousand dollars,” said Jim, half expecting the cashier to jump to his feet and call a strong assistant to escort him to the street.