"Just that, Mr. Prale."
"But in Heaven's name, why? I should think that any financial institution would be glad to get a new account of that size."
"I—er—I cannot go into details, sir," the banker said. "But I must tell you that we'd be glad if you'd make arrangements to move the deposit to some other bank."
"I suppose you don't like to be bothered with small accounts," said Prale, with the suspicion of a sneer in his voice. "Very well, sir! I'll see that the deposit is transferred before night. Perhaps I can find banks that will be glad to take the money and treat me with respect. And I shall remember this, sir!"
"I—er—have no choice in the matter," the banker said.
"Can't you explain what it means?"
"I have nothing to say—nothing at all to say," stammered the financier. "We took the money because of our Honduras correspondent, but we'll appreciate it very much if you do business with some other institution."
"You can bet I'll do that little thing!" Prale exclaimed.
He left the office angrily and stalked from the building. Were the big financiers of New York insane? A man with a million in cold cash has the right to expect that he will be treated decently in a bank. Prale walked down the street and grew angrier with every step he took.
Before going to Honduras he had worked for a firm of brokers. He hurried toward their office now. He would send in his card to his old employer, Griffin, he decided, and ask his advice about banking his funds, and incidentally whether the financier he had just left was an imbecile.