"Just how much money will it take to revive a bank?" asked Davy quietly.
"Forty or fifty thousand dollars will be required to complete the subscriptions and show a small surplus and I think we can——"
"Why, Shirley will have that much, and more, in his upper vest pocket when he arrives," and then Davy told his lengthy story to an eager listener.
"I have known him for nearly two years," said Davy in concluding his lengthy recital, "and in that time he worked hard—too hard. I upbraided him for it. Now, knowing why he was so continuously busy, working to restore his family name and credit in his home town, I should have kept my mouth shut."
"Do you think he will consent to taking charge of the restored family bank?" asked Townsend. "Will he apply the money to that end?"
"I'll see that he puts up the money. He says that half of it is mine, but he may balk on taking charge. And that's our present job. I have a friend in Springfield that's the greatest little banker the world ever produced. I'll get him here, or send Welborn—I mean Shirley—to him to learn the game."
"This has certainly been my lucky day," said Townsend as the party broke up. "This morning the judge approved my settlement of the long-standing Norris case, I received a letter containing a draft of an outstanding debt, and now the important Wells bank receivership settles itself. Let me know the minute Shirley arrives."
Davy's hours of impatience were interrupted on Saturday morning by a telephone call from Chicago. The booth at the Grand Union afforded the privacy needed.
"If you are in your own clothes...."
Davy's directive was interrupted by a hearty laugh, and a prompt inquiry: "Am I under indictment?"