At the first mention of the bank, a look of distrust crept into Cyrus's face--a look cautious, alert, suspicious, such as he wore at directors' meetings when there was a chance that something might be got out of him if for a minute he were to go off his guard. "I feel a great responsibility for him," resumed Gabriel almost sternly, though he was painfully aware that his assurance had deserted him. "Why don't you go to James? James is the one to see about such a matter." If the rector had spoken the thought in his mind, he would have answered, "Because James reminds me of a fish and I can't abide him"; but instead, he replied simply, "I know James so slightly that I don't feel in a position to ask a favour of him." The expression of suspicion left Cyrus's face, and he relaxed from the strained attitude in which he had sat ever since the Sunday-school picnic had been dismissed from the conversation. Leaning back in his chair, he drew two cigars from the pocket of his coat, and after glancing a little reluctantly at them both, offered one to the rector. "I believe he really wanted me to refuse it!" flashed through Gabriel's mind like an arrow--though the other's hesitation had been, in fact, only an unconscious trick of manner which he had acquired during the long lean years when he had fattened chiefly by not giving away. The gift of a cigar could mean nothing to a man who willingly contributed to every charity in town, but the trivial gestures that accompany one's early habits occasionally outlast the peculiar circumstances from which they spring. For a few minutes they smoked in silence. Then Cyrus remarked in his precise voice: "James is a clever fellow--a clever fellow." "I've heard that he is as good as right hand to you. That's a fine thing to say of a son." "Yes, I don't know what I should do without James. He's a saving hand, and, I tell you, there are more fortunes made by saving than by gambling." "Well, I don't think James need ever give you any concern on that account," replied Gabriel, not without gentle satire, for he recalled several unpleasant encounters with the younger Treadwell on the subject of charity. "But I've heard different tales of that nephew of yours who has just come back from God knows what country." "He's Henry's son," replied Cyrus with a frown. "You haven't forgotten Henry?" "Yes, I remember. Henry and George both went out to Australia to open the tobacco market, and Henry died poor while George lived and got rich, I believe?" "George kept free of women and attended to his affairs," returned Cyrus, who was as frank about his family as he was secretive about his business. "But what about Henry's son? He's a promising chap, isn't he?"