"Come into my office," suggested the president.
The Thinking Machine started in, saw a woman--Miss Clarke, who had returned from luncheon--and stopped. There was one thing on earth he was afraid of--a woman.
"Bring it out here," he requested.
President Fraser brought it and placed it in the slender hands of the scientist, who examined it closely by a window, turning it over and over. At last he sniffed at it. There was the faint, clinging odor of violet perfume. Then abruptly, irrelevantly, he turned to Fraser.
"How many women employed in the bank?" he asked.
"Three," was the reply; "Miss Clarke, who is my secretary, and two general stenographers in the outer office."
"How many men?"
"Fourteen, including myself."
If the president and Cashier West had been surprised at the actions of The Thinking Machine up to this point, now they were amazed. He thrust the handkerchief at Hatch, took his own handkerchief, briskly scrubbed his hands with it, and also passed that to Hatch.
"Keep those," he commanded.