“And that queer old man! I wonder,” as she turned her knitting on her knee, “why he did it.”
“I suppose for Arthur’s sake. He’d have lost pretty heavily—for him.”
“But you didn’t expect that Mr. Griffin would come forward?”
The banker allowed it. “No,” he said. “I don’t know that I ever expected anything less. Such things don’t happen, my girl, very often. But he will be no loser, and I suppose Arthur convinced him of that. He is shrewd, and, once convinced, he would see that it was the only thing to do.”
“But not many people would have been convinced?”
“No, perhaps not.”
Betty knitted awhile. “I thought that he hated the bank?” she said, as she paused to rub her chin with a needle.
“He does—and me. But he loves his money, my dear.”
“Still it isn’t his. It is Arthur’s.”
“True. But he’s a man who cannot bear to see money lost. He thinks a good deal of it.”