The Squire in his inmost heart had not derived much satisfaction from his visit to the bank. He had left it with an uneasy feeling that the step he had taken had not produced the intended effect. Ovington had accepted the loss of his custom, not indeed with indifference, but with dignity, and in a manner which left the old man little upon which to plume himself. The withdrawal of his custom wore in the retrospect too much of the look of spite, and he came near to regretting it, as he drove along.

Had he been present at an interview which took place after he had retired, he might have been better pleased. The banker had not been many minutes in the parlor, chewing the cud of the affair, before he was interrupted by his cashier. In this there was nothing unusual; routine required Rodd's presence in the parlor several times in the day. But his manner on the present occasion, and the way in which he closed the door, prepared Ovington for something new, and "What is it, Rodd?" he asked, leaning back in his chair, and disposing himself to listen.

"Can I have a word with you, sir?"

"Certainly." The banker's face told nothing. Rodd's was that of a man who had made up his mind to a plunge. "What is it?"

"I have been wishing to speak for some time, sir," Rodd faltered. "This----" Ovington understood at once that he referred to the Squire's matter--"I don't like it, sir, and I have been with you ten years, and I feel--I ought to speak."

Ovington shrugged his shoulders. "I don't like it either," he said. "But it is of less importance than you think, Rodd. I know why Mr. Griffin did it. And we are not now where we were. The withdrawal of a few hundreds or the loss of a customer----" again he shrugged his shoulders.

"No," Rodd said gravely. "If nothing more follows, sir."

"Why should anything follow? I know his reasons."

"But the town doesn't. And if it gets about, sir?"

"It won't do us much damage. We've lost customers before, yet always gained more than we lost. But there, Rodd, that is not what you came in to say. What is it?" He spoke lightly, but he felt more surprise than he showed. Rodd was a model cashier, performing his duties in a precise, plodding fashion that had often excited Arthur's ridicule; but hitherto he had never ventured an opinion on the policy of the bank, nor betrayed the least curiosity respecting its secrets. "What is it?" Ovington repeated. "What has frightened you, man?"

"We've a lot of notes out, sir!"

The banker looked thoughtfully at the glasses he held in his hand. "True," he said. "Quite true. But trade is brisk, and the demand for credit is large. We must meet the demand, Rodd, as far as we can--with safety. That's our business."

"And we've a lot of money out--that could not be got in in a hurry, sir."

"Yes," the banker admitted, "but that is our business, too. If we did not put our money out we might close the bank to-morrow. That much of the money cannot be got in at a minute's notice is a thing we cannot avoid."

The perspiration stood on Rodd's forehead, but he persisted. "If it were all on bills, sir, I would not say a word. But there is a lot on overdraft."

"Well secured."

"While things are up. But if things went down, sir? There's Wolley's account. I suspect that the last bills we discounted for him were accommodation. Indeed, I am sure of it. And his overdraft is heavy."

"We hold the lease of his mill."

"But you don't want to run the mill!" Rodd replied, putting his finger on the weak point.

The banker reflected. "That's the worst account we have. The worst, isn't it?"

"Mr. Acherley's, sir."

"Well, yes. There might be a sounder account than that. But what is it?" He looked directly at the other. "I want to know what has opened your mouth? Have you heard anything? What makes you think that things are going down?"

"Mr. Griffin----"

"No." The banker shook his head. "That won't do, Rodd. You had this in your mind before he came in. You are pat with Wolley and Mr. Acherley; bad accounts both, as all banks have bad accounts here and there. But it's true--we've been giving our customers rope, and they have bought things that may fall. Still, they've made money, a good deal of money, and we've kept a fair margin and obliged them at the same time. All legitimate business. There must be something in your mind besides this, I'm sure. What is it, lad?"

The cashier turned a dull red, but before he could answer the door behind him opened. Arthur came in. He looked at the banker, and from him to Rodd, and his suspicions were aroused. "It's four o'clock, sir," he said, and looked again at Rodd as if to ask what he was doing there.

But Rodd held his ground, and the banker explained.

"Rodd is a little alarmed for us," he said, and it was difficult to be sure whether he spoke in jest or in earnest. "He thinks we're going too fast. Putting our hand out too far. He mentions Wolley's account, and Acherley's.

"I was speaking generally," Rodd muttered. He looked sullen.

Arthur shrugged his shoulders. "I stand corrected," he said. "I didn't know that Rodd ever went beyond his ledgers."

"Oh, he's quite right to speak his mind. We are all in the same boat--though we do not all steer."

"Well, I'm glad of that, sir."

"Still," mildly, "it is a good thing to have an opinion."

"If it be worth anything."

"If opinions are going----" Betty had opened the door behind the banker's chair, and was standing on the threshold--"wouldn't you like to have mine, father?"

"To be sure," Arthur said. "Why not, indeed? Let us have it. Why not have everybody's? And send for the cook, sir, and the two clerks--to advise us?"

Betty dropped a curtsy. "Thank you, I am flattered."

"Betty, you've no business here," her father said. "You mustn't stop unless you can keep your opinions to yourself."

"But what has happened?" she asked, looking around in wonder.

"Mr. Griffin has withdrawn his account."

"And Rodd," Arthur added, with more heat than the occasion seemed to demand, "thinks that we had better put up the shutters!"

"No, no," the banker said. "We must do him justice. He thinks that we are going a little too far, that's all. And that the loss of Mr. Griffin's account is a danger signal. That's what you mean, man, isn't it?"

Rodd nodded, his face stubborn. He stood alone, divided from the other three by the table, for Arthur had passed round it and placed himself at Ovington's elbow.

"His view," the banker continued, polishing his glasses with his handkerchief and looking thoughtfully at them, "is that if there came a check in trade and a fall in values, the bank might find its resources strained--I'll put it that way."

Arthur sneered. "Singular wisdom! But a fall--a general fall at any rate--what sign is there of it?" He was provoked by the banker's way of taking it. Ovington seemed to be attaching absurd weight to Rodd's suggestion. "None!" contemptuously. "Not a jot."

"There's been a universal rise," Rodd muttered.

"In a moment? Without warning?"

"No, but----"

"But fiddlesticks!" Arthur retorted. Of late it seemed as if his good humor had deserted him, and this was not the first sign he had given of an uncertain temper. Still, the phase was so new that two of those present looked curiously at him, and his consciousness of this added to his irritation.............