“It’s his son’s murder that’s eating into his heart. He’s been losing ground ever since.”
The clerks gradually disappeared, quietly slipping out into the sunshine one by one as their books were balanced, and now the two men stood alone. It was a time used by them for taking account of the bank’s affairs generally, and they felt the stability of that institution to be quite personal to them.
“I’ve seen that young man before,” said Mr. Copeland. “Now, who is he? Harry King––Harry King,––the Kings moved away from here––twelve years ago––wasn’t it? Their son would not be as old as this man.”
“Boys grow up fast. You never can tell.”
“The Kings were a short, thickset lot.”
“He may not be one of them. He said nothing about ever having been here before. I never talk with any one here at the window. It’s quite against my rules for the clerks, and has to be so for myself, of course. I leave that sort of thing to you and the Elder.”
“I say––I’ve seen him before––the way he walks––the 364 way he carries his head––there’s a resemblance somewhere.”
The two men also departed, after looking to the safe, and the last duties devolving on them, seeing that all was locked and double-locked. It was a solemn duty, always attended to solemnly.