"Don't do it, then," rejoined the banker. "I'm sick of figures, and you never needed them when you used to make up fairy tales as we went roaming through the streets after the bank had closed."
"I often make up fairy stories still," said Mr. Wattles, "after the bank has closed."
"Do you?" demanded the other. "Do you still? And do you still take walks before going home to supper?"
"Yes, when it does not rain."
"And do you think it will be clear to-night?"
Mr. Wattles laughed.
"To-night I shall be late in getting off," he said, "because to-morrow is a holiday."
"What holiday?" inquired Mr. Clatfield.
"Christmas," said Mr. Wattles.