She was in the midst of a meditated attack upon the steamship lithographs on the walls—sole remaining landmarks of the ante-Grierson period—when her father wheeled in his pivot-chair and questioned her with a lift of his shaggy eyebrows.
"Want to see me, Madgie?"
"Just a moment." She crossed the room and stood at the end of the big desk. He reached mechanically for his check-book, but she smiled and stopped him. "No; it isn't money, this time: it's something that money can't buy. I met Mr. Edward Raymer at the front door a few minutes ago; does he have an account with you?"
"Yes."
"Is it an accommodation to the bank, or to him?"
Jasper Grierson's laugh was grimly contemptuous.
"The bank isn't making anything out of him. The shoe is on the other foot."
"Do you mean that he is a borrower?"
"Not yet; but he wants to be. He was in to see me about it just now."
"What is the matter? Isn't he making money with his plant?"