Mr. Hinchford nerved himself to the task, crossed the road, and went up the steps into the bank. They were busy before and behind the counters there; money was being shovelled in and out of drawers; cheques were flying across the counter; there was the stir and bustle of a first-class banking-house before him; everybody was talking, whispering, studying, and thinking of money; what room for any sentiment in that place from nine till four?
He took his place by the counter, waiting to address one of the clerks at the first convenient opportunity that might present itself; he was in no hurry; he wished to collect his thoughts, and arrange his plan of action; and instead of arranging any plan, he looked at the clerks, and thought Sidney Hinchford might as well have a place behind that counter as not—and how well he would look there, and what a good place for him it would be!
He stood there for a considerable time, until his presence began to oppress a bald-headed young man at the third desk, an energetic young man of uncivil appearance—soured in life perhaps, by his hair coming off so early—who, in the hurry of business, had taken little notice of Mr. Hinchford until then.
"What is it?" he asked, abruptly.
Mr. Hinchford objected to abruptness, and felt it hard to be snubbed by his brother's clerk to begin with. He reddened a little, and said that he wished to see Mr. Hinchford directly.
"Mr. Hinchford!" the clerk repeated; "oh! you can't see either of them!"
"Just ask, young man, and don't answer for your master!"
"If it's anything about an account, Mr. Maurice will, if you've a proper introduction, at——"
"Mr. Maurice will not do, sir!" cried Mr. Hinchford; "go and tell my brother directly that I wish to see him, if you please."
There was some pride in claiming brotherhood with the banker, even under the difficulties before him; the effect upon the uncivil bank clerk—why are bank clerks uncivil in the aggregate?—was bewildering; he stared at Mr. Hinchford, detected the likeness at once, and backed from the counter on the instant. Mr. Hinchford saw no more of him—he was beginning to think that his message had not been delivered after all, when a young man behind touched him on the arm.