A young man who had preceded Harry King at the teller’s window paused near by at the cashier’s desk and began asking questions which Harry himself would have been glad to ask, but could not.
He was an alert, bright-eyed young chap with a smiling face. “Good afternoon, Mr. Copeland. Any news for me to-day?”
Mr. Copeland was an elderly man of great dignity, and almost as much of a figure there as the Elder himself. It was an act of great temerity to approach him for items of news for the Leauvite Mercury. Of this fact the young reporter seemed to be blithely ignorant. All the clerks were covertly watching the outcome, and thus attention was turned from Harry King; even the teller glanced frequently 361 at the cashier’s desk as he counted the bank notes placed in his hand.
“News? No. No news,” said Mr. Copeland, without looking up.
“Thank you. It’s my business to ask for it, you know. We’re making more of a feature of personal items than ever before. We’re up to date, you see. ‘Find out what people want and then give it to them.’ That’s our motto.” The young man leaned forward over the high railing that corralled the cashier in his pen apart from the public, smilingly oblivious of that dignitary’s objections to an interview. “Expecting the return of Elder Craigmile soon?”
At that question, to the surprise of all, the cashier suddenly changed his manner to the suave affability with which he greeted people of consequence. “We are expecting Elder Craigmile shortly. Yes. Indeed he may arrive any day, if the voyage is favorable.”
“Thank you. Mrs. Craigmile accompanies him, I suppose?”
“It is not likely, no. Her health demands––ahem––a little longer rest and change.”
“Ah! The Elder not called back by––for any particular reason? No. Business going well? Good. I’m told there’s a great deal of depression.”
“Oh, in a way––there may be,––but we’re all of the conservative sort here in Leauvite. We’re not likely to feel it if there is. Good afternoon.”