Ovington's Bank

by Stanley John Weyman

He was beyond doubt an asset to the bank. His birth, his manners, his good looks, the infection of his laugh made him a favorite with gentle and simple. And then he worked. He had energy, he was tireless, no task was too hard or too long for him. But he labored under one disadvantage, though he did not know it. He had had experience of the rise, not of the fall. As far back as he had been connected with Ovington’s, trade had continued to expand, things had gone well; and by nature he was sanguine and leant towards the bold policy. He threw his weight on that side, and, able and self-confident, he made himself felt. Even Ovington yielded to the thrust of his opinion, was swayed by him, and at times, perhaps, put a little out of his course.

Not that Arthur was without his troubles. Naturally and inevitably a cloud had fallen on the relation, friendly hitherto, between him and Clement. Clement had grown cool to him, and the change was unwelcome, for it was in Arthur’s nature to love popularity and to thrive and to bask in the sunshine of it. But it could not be helped. Without breaking eggs one could not make omelettes. Clement blamed him, he knew, feeling, and with reason, that what he had done deserved acknowledgment, and that it lay with Arthur to see that justice was done. And Arthur, for his part, would have gladly acquitted himself of the debt had it consisted with his own interests. But it did not.

Had he suspected the tie between Clement and Josina he might have acted otherwise. He might have foreseen the possibility of Clement’s gaining the old man’s ear, might have scented danger, and played a more cautious game. But he knew nothing of this. Garth and Clement stood apart in his mind. Clement and Josina were as far as he knew barely acquainted. He was aware, therefore, of no special reason why Clement should desire to stand well at Garth, while he felt sure that his friend was the last person to push a claim, or to thrust himself uninvited on the Squire’s gratitude.

Accordingly, and the more as the banker had not himself taken up the quarrel, he put it aside as of no great importance. He shrugged his shoulders and told himself that Clement would come round. The cloud would pass, and its cause be forgotten.

In the meantime he ignored it. He met Clement’s hostility with bland unconsciousness, smiled and was pleasant. He was too busy a man to be troubled by trifles. He was not going to be turned from his course by the passing frown of a silly fellow, who could not hold an advantage when he had won it.

Betty was another matter. Betty was behaving ill and showing temper, in league apparently with her brother and sympathizing with him. She was changed from the Betty of old days. He had lost his hold upon her, and though this fell in well enough with the change in his views—or the possible change, for he had not quite made up his mind—it pricked his conceit as much as it surprised him. Moreover, the girl had a sharp tongue and was not above using it, so that more than once he smarted under its lash.

“Fine feathers make fine birds!” she said, as Arthur came bounding into the house one day and all but collided with her. “Only they should be your own, Mr. Daw!”

“Oh, I give your father all the credit,” he replied, “only I do some of the work. But you used not to be so critical, Betty.”

“No? Well, I’ll tell you why if you like.”

“Oh, I don’t want to know.”