They had not been three minutes in the little reception room before they heard footsteps and voices in the hall. The portière was thick, but Dick heard first a high voice, which she did not know, and then a gruffer one, which she seemed to recognize. As she glanced toward the portière, Mrs. Curtin said,-- “That must be Mr. Sponley with Mr. Curtin.” Mrs. Curtin had not the smallest interest in Melville Sponley, but something must serve for conversation until the kettle could be got to boil, and he made the best material at hand, so she talked about him: how a few months ago he had come to see Mr. Curtin a number of times; how once he had brought Mrs. Sponley to call on them. She told Dick what she thought of them, and what her friends thought of them and a great deal more, which bored Dick and herself also exceedingly, so that both of them were very much relieved when it was possible for Dick to take her leave. But now! Sponley had never thought Dick worth taking into account. He believed her apparent interest in the fight for the bank to be nothing more than a pose. He had met many of those women who will affect an interest in anything so long as it is out of what used to be considered “woman’s sphere,” and he took it for granted that Dick was doing the same thing. So though his eyes were everywhere else, they never fell on Dick. Had he looked at her now, he would have seen that she knew he had lied. She began to try to think out the meaning of it, but checked herself, for she must follow the discussion. “He’s holding out for something, that’s all there is to it,” said Robins. “What do you suppose he wants?--Board of Directors?” “He can’t have that, if he does want it,” said John. “We couldn’t get him in if we wanted to try, and he’s not the right sort, any way.” “Wonder how something with a salary to it would suit him,” Sponley said thoughtfully. “I don’t believe it would have to be too near the top, either.” “Assistant cashier?” asked John. Sponley nodded. “Guess we could land him with that,” he said. John smiled rather ruefully. “We’ve got to have him, so I suppose we’ll have to pay the price. It’ll simply mean putting in a high-priced man for discount clerk to do his work.” Those were busy days, for while John was bringing every available resource into line for the approaching struggle, Alice and Dick were superintending the rehabilitation of the gloomy old house where John had spent his boyhood, and which was now to be their home. It would be unfair not to mention Jack Dorlin in this connection, for his taste, his energy, when he chose to exert it, and his unlimited leisure made him a most valuable ally. The three spent about half their days in the big house, consulting, arguing the advisability of this change or that, arranging and rearranging, until even Dick admitted she was tired.