“I wouldn’t wreck the bank for the sake of backing up any of your little amusements,” said John. “I’d sell you out the minute I thought it necessary to save the bank a loss; and if I thought a loan was bad, I wouldn’t throw good money after it. But if I tell you I’ll see you through, I’ll do it; and if I tell you you can have so much money to-morrow, you’ll get it to-morrow, no matter what’s happened over night. I’ll not get scared. It’s a crime for a banker to lose his nerve. I’ll tell you this, though,” he added, laughing, “I wouldn’t take more than three accounts like yours for a hundred thousand a year salary. You’re the sort of fellows that make a banker’s head white.” He had thrust his hands into his trousers pockets and slipped far down in his chair, resting his head against the back of it. “I guess I can take care of one of you all right, though,” he said. Pickering looked at him thoughtfully a moment; then he said:-- “I guess you can. We’ll get on together first rate.” John straightened up in his chair and nodded. “We’ll call it settled, then. Do you want to make a deposit to-day?” “Yes,” said Pickering; “I want it fixed up right away. I’ll deposit a hundred thousand. I want a loan, too.” “A big one?” Pickering nodded. “Half a million,” he said calmly. “Yes,” said John, with a dry laugh, “that is big. It needs a little thinking over.” He leaned over his desk, scowling, picked up a pencil and made a few figures on a bit of scratch paper. Then he said:-- “Well, I can do it. If you’ve the right sort of collateral, I’ll let you have it.” “Oh, the collateral’s good: best kind; it’s lard.” John glanced at him sharply. “So, that’s the story, is it? Lard, eh! Well, lard’s good collateral if you’ve got enough of it.” “I’ve got enough,” said Pickering, laughing. “Plenty. How much of a margin do you want?” “Fifty per cent.” “You _are_ cautious,” said Pickering. “Of course, lard’s high now, but just remember that it’s scarce. The normal price of it is certainly a good deal more than half the present market price.” “I suppose so--but here’s the point. What are you going to do with all that stuff? You can’t make soap out of it. Normal price! You can’t talk about a normal price when you’re manipulating the market. When a corner’s nearly made and then busted--well, I want to be a long way on the safe side. That’s just the time when it pays a bank to be cautious.” “You’re all right, from your point of view, at least,” said the soap manufacturer, “and I want that half million, so I’ll put up enough lard to cover it. It’s worth about twenty-four dollars a tierce to-day, and you say you lend me twelve on it. As I figure it then,” he paused for a rough calculation, “you want about forty thousand tierces.” “Yes,” said John a moment later, “that’ll do. You can make out a note right here and send round the collateral in the morning.”