“Five!” There was a curious suggestion of defiance in the young man’s tone.
“Five millions?” incredulously.
“Yes.” Grinnell looked at Mr. Dawson calmly.
“Well, Mr. Grinnell—” The president paused.
“Well, Mr. Dawson?” returned the young man.
“Really, really,” said Dawson, more excited than any of the clerks remembered ever to have seen him, “this is most extraordinary. It’s—most extraordinary! Won’t you please come into my office a moment?”
“With pleasure, Mr. Dawson.”
They faced each other by the president’s desk. Dawson did not know how to begin. Perceiving that the silence was becoming embarrassing, he said: “Kindly be seated, Mr. Grinnell,” and himself sat down. In some curious way, no sooner was he in his chair than he felt calm, self-possessed. It was his throne. There, seated, he heard the speeches of men as from a height. Mostly he had heard suppliants for his mercy or for his favour. It had given him, through the sense of mastery, a great confidence in himself. It returned to him as he leaned back in the chair.
“Let us speak with perfect frankness. You have now on deposit in this bank—”
“I’ll tell you exactly,” said Grinnell, consulting his pass-book. He added the figures with the tip of a lead-pencil. “Exactly $9,537,805.69.”