Herresford was in a more than usually unpleasant frame of mind when the manager of Ormsby’s bank came to bring the news that someone had robbed him of seven thousand dollars. The old man was no longer in the usual bedroom, lying on his ebony bed. A sudden impulse had seized him to be moved to another portion of the house, where he could see a fresh section of the grounds. He needed a change, and he wanted to spy out new defects. A sudden removal to a room in the front of the house revealed the fact that everything had been neglected except the portion of the garden which had formerly come within range of his field-glasses.
Rage accordingly! Stormy interviews, with violent threats of instant dismissal of the whole outdoor staff, petulant abuse of people who had nothing whatever to do with the neglect of the park, and a display of energy and mental activity surprising in one of such advanced age. He was in the middle of an altercation with his steward—who resigned his position about once a month—when the bank-manager was announced. 94
At the mention of the word bank, the old man lost all interest in things out of doors.
“Send him up—send him up—don’t keep him waiting,” he cried. “Time is money. He may have come to tell me that I must sell something. Nothing is more important in life than money. See that there are pens and paper, in case I have to sign anything.”
The quiet, urbane bank-manager had never before interviewed this terrible personage. He had heard strange stories of an abusive old man in his dotage, who contrived to make it very unpleasant for any representative of the bank sent up to his bedroom to get documents signed, and was therefore surprised to see an alert, hawk-eyed old gentleman, with a skull-cap and a dressing-jacket, sitting up in bed in a small turret bedroom, smiling, and almost genial.
“Will you take a seat, Mr.——? I didn’t quite catch your name.”
“Barnby, sir.”
“Take a seat, Mr. Barnby. You’ve come to see me about money?”
“Yes, sir, an unpleasant matter, I fear.”
“Depression in the market, eh? Things still falling? Ah! It’s the war, the war—curse it! Tell me more—tell me quickly!”