“Good Heavens!”
“You see,” explained the young man, very earnestly, “I thought that since this was the bank with the greatest deposits, after I had, as it were, accustomed you to this sort of business, it would be less noticeable than if I went elsewhere.”
Mr. Dawson rose.
“This cannot go on. I must know where this gold comes from!” He glared at the young man menacingly. His face had grown pale. Grinnell rose deliberately. He looked at the president so seriously as to produce the impression of a frown, though there was none on his face.
“Mr. Dawson,” he said, in a voice that betrayed displeasure, “as I told you before, I have no intention of disturbing this account. As far as I can see, it will remain here indefinitely. I do not ask you to allow me interest. Should I change my mind, I will give you ample notice. If you wish me to relieve you of this burden, which you appear to regard as excessive, I beg that you will say so, and I shall go elsewhere. I bring this money here because I feel it will be safe. My private affairs, I am sure, can be of no interest to any one. You have but to say the word and we part—the best of friends.”
The president drew in a deep breath.
“I beg a thousand pardons,” he said with an attempt, not over-successful, at contrition. “You may forgive me, but I never shall forgive myself. But are you sure, Mr. Grin-nell, that you can tell me nothing of your—er—fortune? Remember, I have no desire to pry into your private affairs.” He had a way of being polite, as though his very thoughts were punctilious. Wall Street distrusted his self-possession. People who have others completely in their power, and are self-possessed, are too dangerous for comfort.
“Well, Mr. Dawson, the fortune happens to be one of them,” said the young man.
“So, you see, I can only regret that I cannot answer you.”