He carried the books into the vault. He wound the clock that controlled the mechanism of bolts and bars, and pushed the big outer door shut and made certain that it was secure. Having finished as cashier, he became janitor. Egypt had no electric lights. Vaniman trimmed the kerosene reflector lamp and set it on the table so that the front of the safe would be illuminated for the benefit of the village's night watchman. Then he put on his cap and overcoat and locked the grille door and the bank door after he had passed each portal. His last chore of the day was always a trip into the basement to make sure that the dying fire in the wood furnace was carefully closed in for the night. The basement stairs led from the rear of the corridor. When Vaniman returned up the stairs he had settled on a small matter of business which would serve as a valid excuse for entering the presence of President Britt. But he did not need to employ the excuse. Britt stood in his open door and called to the cashier and walked back to his chair, leaving Vaniman to follow, and the employee obeyed the summons with alacrity; he was consumed with desire to get a line on the situation that had been troubling him. An observer would have called the contest of mutual inspection a fifty-fifty break--perhaps with a shade in favor of Britt, for the usurer's face was like leather and his goggling marbles of eyes under the lids that resembled little tents did not flicker. “What can I do for you?” Britt demanded, and the query made for the young man's discomposure. “Why, you called me in, sir!” “Uh-huh!” the president admitted, “but somehow I had the impression that you said you wanted to see me after the bank closed.” He was taking account of stock of Vaniman's personality, his eyes going up and down the stalwart figure and dwelling finally and persistently on the young man's hair; it was copper-bronze in hue, it had an attractive wave, there was plenty of it, and it seemed to be very firmly rooted. “I don't remember that I mentioned it, Mr. Britt, but I do have an errand with you.” “All right! What is it?” Mr. Britt was not revealing any emotions that Vaniman found illuminating in regard to his particular quest. “I am being tongue-lashed terribly through the wicket. Men won't believe that I'm obeying the orders of you and the board when accommodation is refused. Won't you take the matter off my hands--let me refer all to you?” “I don't keep a dog and do my own barking,” rasped the president. He brought his eyes down from the young man's hair and noted that Vaniman stiffened and was displaying resentment. “That's only a Yankee motto--you needn't take it as personal, Vaniman. I have turned over to you the running of the bank. I say to all that you're running it. You ought to feel pretty well set up!” “I obey your orders, sir,” returned the cashier, not warming.