“I’m going,” confessed Grinnell, “to make some deposits with the Eastern, Agricultural, and Marshall National banks. But the Metropolitan,” he added with a pleasant smile, “is my first love. Good-morning, gentlemen.” He turned to go.
“Mr. Grinnell, one moment, please. I should like to ask a favour. I think you are depositing too much. Ten millions a week means five hundred millions a year.”
“So it does. But I thought——” He checked himself; and then went on: “What is the favour you were about to ask?”
“Could you abstain from depositing any more gold in any bank for, say a month or two?”
The young man’s eyes were thoughtful for a moment.
“Well, I have some gold I must deposit, as I have no facilities at present for storage, save in bank vaults. You see, I had not figured upon—well, one does not always think carefully enough in advance of what he is going to do, and he finds himself confronted by conditions he had not reckoned on. How was I to tell I couldn’t deposit even fifty millions without disturbing you? I fear I must deposit a little more. In fact, I can’t stop, even if I wish to. But I’ll think over what you have said.”
“Have you much more on hand?”
“Quite a chunk of it!”
“How much?” asked Dawson. The richest man was leaning forward again, his eyes fixed on the young man because the young man was not looking at him.
“I don’t know. I haven’t weighed it,” answered Grinnell.