“Under an aggressive management your bank could be one of the three greatest in the city in two years. It’s immensely rich, and it has a tremendous credit. As you say, with things as they are, it’s hopeless; but then, some day you’ll get control of it, I suppose.” There was a moment of silence while Sponley relighted his cigar. “Have you thought of making a change? I mean, of getting a better training by working up through some other bank?” “That’s out of the question,” said John. “I can understand your feeling that way about it,” said the other. “I’ve detained you a long time. I’d ask you to come and see us, but my wife and I are going abroad next week, and shan’t be back till spring; but we’ll surely see you then. Good-by and good luck.” John went back to the bank and listened with an indifference he had not known before to the remonstrance of his immediate superior, who spoke satirically about the length of his lunch hour, and carped at his way of crossing his t’s. Sponley and his wife lingered at the table that evening, discussing plans for their journey. Harriet Sponley was younger than her husband, but she had not his nerves, and there were lines in her face which time had not yet written in his. “I’m glad you’re to have the rest,” he said, looking intently at her; “you need it.” “No more than you,” she smilingly protested. “You didn’t come home to lunch.” “N-no.” A smile broke over his heavy face. “I was engaged in agricultural pursuits. I planted a grain of mustard seed, which will grow into a great tree. Some time we may be glad to roost therein.” “Riddles!” she exclaimed. “Please give me the key to this one. I don’t feel like guessing.” “If you will have it, I’ve been putting a cyclone cellar in a bank.” “Whose bank?” “Bagsbury’s,” he answered, smiling more broadly. “Bagsbury’s,” she repeated, in an injured tone, “I really want to know. Please tell me.” “Did you ever hear,” he asked, as they left the dining room and entered the library, “of young John Bagsbury?” “No, do you know him?” He dropped into an easy-chair. “Met him yesterday.” “It won’t do any good,” she said; “somebody has probably come round already and warned him that you’re a dangerous man, or a plunger, or something like that.” “Yes, I warned him to-day myself.” She laughed and moved away toward the piano. As she passed behind his chair, she patted his head approvingly.