"When one of these chaps, Mr. Coster," said the president in the accusing voice bank presidents use toward those borrowers whose collateral is inadequate, "asks for a raise and doesn't get it he begins to brood over his wrongs. People who think they are underpaid necessarily think they are overworked. And that is what makes socialists of them!" He glared at the cashier, who acquiesced, awe-strickenly: "Yes, sir!" "As a matter of fact," pursued the president, still accusingly, "we should reduce the bookkeeping force. Dawson tells me that at the Metropolitan National they average one clerk to two hundred and forty-two accounts. The best we've ever done is one to one hundred and eighty-eight. Reduce! Good morning." "Mr. Goodchild," said Hendrik Rutgers, approaching the president, "won't you please listen to what I have to say?" Mr. Goodchild was one of those business men who in their desire to conduct their affairs efficiently become mind-readers in order to save precious time. He knew what Rutgers was going to say, and therefore anticipated it by answering: "I am very sorry for the sickness in your family. The best I can do is to let you remain with us for a little while, until whoever is sick is better." He nodded with great philanthropy and self-satisfaction. But Hendrik said, very earnestly: "If I were content with my job I wouldn't be worth a whoop to the bank. What makes me valuable is that I want to be more. Every soldier of Napoleon carried a marshal's baton in his knapsack. That gave ambition to Napoleon's soldiers, who always won. Let your clerks understand that a vice-presidency can be won by any of us and you will see a rise in efficiency that will surprise you. Mr. Goodchild, it is a matter of common sense to--" "Get out!" said the president. Ordinarily he would have listened. But he had lost money; that made him think only of one thing--that he had lost money! The general had suddenly discovered that his fortress was not impregnable! He did not wish to discuss feminism. Of course, Hendrik did not know that the president's request for solitude was a confession of weakness and, therefore, in the nature of a subtle compliment. And therefore, instead of feeling flattered, Hendrik saw red. It is a common mistake. But anger always stimulated his faculties. All men who are intelligent in their wrath have in them the makings of great leaders of men. The rabble, in anger, merely becomes the angry rabble--and stays rabble. Hendrik Rutgers aimed full at George G. Goodchild, Esq., a look of intense astonishment. "Get out!" repeated the president. Hendrik Rutgers turned like a flash to the cashier and said, sharply: "Didn't you hear? _Get out!_" "You!" shouted Mr. George G. Goodchild. "Who? _Me?_" Hendrik's incredulity was abysmal. "Yes! You!" And the president, dangerously flushed, advanced threateningly toward the insolent beast.