So we went down three desks and braced another man to see if we please could put some money in his bank. This one had whiskers parted in the middle on his chin. I shore hated him. "What can I do for you, my good man?" says he. "I was thinking of opening a account," says Old Man Wright. "What business?" says he. "Poker and cows," says Old Man Wright. The fellow with whiskers turned away. "I'm very busy," says he. "So am I," says Old Man Wright. "But what about the account?" "You'd better see Mr. Watts, three windows down," says the man with the whiskers. So we went on a little farther down. "How much of a deposit did you want to make, my good friend?" ast this new man, who had little whiskers in front of his ears. I didn't like him none at all. Old Man Wright he puts his hand in his pocket and pulls out a lot of fine cut, and some keys and a knife and some paper money, and says he: "I don't know--it might run as high as three hundred dollars." The man with the little whiskers he pushes back his roll. "We couldn't think of opening so small a account," says he. "I recommend you to our Savings Department, two floors below." Old Man Wright he turns to me and says he: "Haven't they got the fine system? They always have a place for your money, even if it's a little bit." "Hold on a minute," says he after a while and pulls a card out of his pocket. "Take this in to your president and tell him I want to see him." That made the man with the little whiskers get right pale. His mouth got round like that of a sucker fish. "What do you mean?" says he. "Nothing much," says Old Man Wright. "I may have overlooked a few things. I was wrong about that three hundred dollars." He flattens out on the table a mussed-up piece of paper he found in his side pocket. "It wasn't three hundred dollars at all, but three hundred thousand dollars," says he. "I forgot. Go ask your president if he'll please let me open a account, especial since I bought four thousand shares in this bank the other day when I was absent-minded--my banker out in Cheyenne told me to do it. You can see why I come in, then--I wanted to see how the hands in this business was carrying it on, me being a stockholder. Now run along, son," says he, "and bring the president out here, because I'm busy and I ain't got long to wait." And blame me if the president didn't come out, too, after a while! He was a little man, yet looked like he'd just got his suit of clothes from the tailor that morning, and his necktie too--white and rather soft-looking; not very tall, but wide, with no whiskers. I didn't have no use for him at all. The president he came smiling, with both his hands out. He certainly was a glad-hand artist, which is what a bank president has to be today--he's got to be a speaker and a handshaker. The rest don't count so much.