“Better make what you can,” Arthur replied, and rode on a little more cavalierly than he would have ridden a few months before. He did not reflect how easy it is to sow the seeds of distrust. Purslow, left alone to make the best of cold comfort, felt for the first time that his interests were not the one care of the bank. For the first time he saw the bank as something apart, a machine, cold, impassive, indifferent, proceeding on its course unmoved by his fortunes, good or bad, his losses or his gains. It was a picture that chilled him, and set him thinking. Arthur, meantime, left his horse at the stables and let himself into the bank by the house-door. As he laid his hat and whip on the table in the hall, he caught the sound of an angry voice. It came from the bank parlor. He hesitated an instant, then he made up his mind, and stepping that way he opened the door. The voice was Wolley’s. The man was on his feet, angry, protesting, gesticulating. Ovington, his lips set, the pallor of his handsome face faintly tinged with color, sat behind his table, his elbows on the arms of his chair, his fingertips meeting. Arthur took it all in. Then, “You don’t want me?” he said, and he made as if he would close the door again. “I thought that you were alone, sir.” “No, stay,” Ovington answered. “You may as well hear what Mr. Wolley has to say, though I have told him already——” “What?” the clothier cried rudely. “Come! Let’s have it in plain words!” “That we can discount no more bills for him until the account against him is reduced. You know as well as I do, Mr. Wolley, that you have been drawing more bills and larger bills than your trade justifies.” “But I have to meet the paper I’ve accepted for wool, haven’t I? And if my customers don’t pay cash—as you know it is not the custom to pay—where am I to get the cash to pay the wool men?” The banker took up one of two bills that lay on the table before him. “Drawn on Samuel Willias, Manchester,” he said. “That’s a new name. Who is he?” “A customer. Who should he be?” “That’s the point,” Ovington replied coldly. “Is he? And this other bill. A new name, too. Besides, we’ve already discounted your usual bills. These bills are additional. My own opinion is that they are accommodation bills, and that you, and not the acceptors, will have to meet them. In any case,” dropping the slips on the table, “we are not going to take them.” “You won’t cash them? Not on no terms?” “No, we are going no further, Wolley,” the banker replied firmly. “If you like I will send for the bill-book and ledger and tell you exactly what you owe, on bills and overdraft. I know it is a large amount, and you have made, as far as I can judge, no effort to reduce it. The time has come when we must stop the advances.” “And you’ll not discount these bills?” “No!”