"No, but I've come to make myself a nuisance—I want to ask you questions," said T. B. coolly.
"So long as they are pertinent to the business in hand, I shall have every pleasure in answering," replied Sir George.
"First and foremost, is there the slightest danger of Bronte's Bank failing?" asked T. B. Smith calmly.
The audacity of the question struck the baronet dumb.
"Failing?" he repeated. "Bronte's fail—Mr. Smith, are you jesting?"
"I was never more in earnest," said T. B. "Think what you like of my impertinence, but humour me, please."
The banker looked hard at the man before him, as though to detect some evidence of ill-timed humour.
"It is no more possible for Bronte's to fail than the Bank of England," he said brusquely.
"I am not very well acquainted with the practice of banking," said T. B., "and I should be grateful if you would explain why it is impossible for a bank to fail."
If Sir George Calliper had been a little less sure of himself, he would have detected the monstrous inaccuracy of T. B.'s confession of ignorance.