Mr. Clatfield tried to fancy what this Mr. Briggs was like and what his dinner would be like, but in either case failed to make a picture because he never could imagine anything.
"At least come with me to the door," he said.
It was not far to where the iron lions crouched, and presently the two men stood before them shaking hands.
"Good-night," said Mr. Clatfield. "This has been like old times. I suppose you'll not be at the bank to-morrow?"
"I shall be there for an hour perhaps to finish up some work," replied the cashier. "Is there anything I can do?"
He drew a memorandum book from his pocket. Holding the page in the light of a street lamp, his eyes fell on some small, neatly penciled figures.
"By the way," he said, "I have figured out your problem. Ten million one-dollar bills placed end to end would reach one hundred and ten miles, forty-eight hundredths and a fraction."
"Thank you," said Mr. Clatfield.
"In two-cent stamps——" continued the cashier, but his employer interfered.