"Oh, I make every allowance," said the other; "only it is very inconvenient, but it was not to discuss your uncle's shortcomings that I brought you here."
He pulled out a pass book from a heap in front of him.
"'Mr. Rex Holland,'" he read. "He opened his account while I was on my holiday, you remember."
"I remember very well," said Frank, "and he opened it through me."
"What sort of man is he?" asked the manager.
"I am afraid I am no good at descriptions," replied Frank, "but I should describe him as a typical young man about town, not very brainy, very few ideas outside of his own immediate world—which begins at Hyde Park Corner—"
"And ends at the Hippodrome," interrupted the manager.
"Possibly," said Frank. "He seemed a very sound, capable man in spite of a certain languid assumption of ignorance as to financial matters, and he came very well recommended. What would you like me to do?"
The manager pushed himself back in his chair, thrust his hands in his trousers' pockets, and looked at the ceiling for inspiration.