tate of the market--everything so upset that a bank couldn't afford
even the suspicion of a loss or irregularity--hinting at something in
his mind not evident to the rest of us. I was just rising to go round
and ask him quietly if, having reported, I might not be excused to get
on the actual work, when the door opened.

I can't say why the young fellow who stood in it should have seemed so
foreign to the business in hand; perhaps the carriage of his tall
figure, the military abruptness of his movements, the way he swung the
door far back against the wall and halted there, looking us over. But I
do know that no sooner had Worth Gilbert, lately home from France,
crossed the threshold, meeting Whipple's outstretched hand, nodding
carelessly to the others, than suddenly every man in the room seemed
older, less a man. We were dead ones; he the only live wire in the
place.

"Boyne," the president turned quickly to me, "would you mind going over
for Captain Gilbert's benefit what you've just said?"

The newcomer had, so far, not made any movement to join the circle at
the table. He stood there, chin up, looking straight at us all, but
quite through us. At the back of the gaze was a something between weary
and fierce that I have noticed in the eyes of so many of our boys home
from what they'd witnessed and gone through over there, when forced to
bring their attention to the stale, bloodless affairs of civil life.
Used to the instant, conclusive fortunes of war, they can hardly handle
themselves when matters hitch and halt upon customs and legalities; the
only thing that appeals to them is the big chance, win or lose, and have
it over. Such a man doesn't speak the language of the group that was
there gathered. Just looking at him, old Dykeman rasped, without further
provocation,

"What's Captain Gilbert got to do with the private concerns of this
bank?"

As though the words--and their tone--had been a cordial invitation,
rather than an offensive challenge, the young man, who had still shown
no sign of an intention to come into the meeting at all, walked to the
table, drew out a chair and sat down.

"Pardon me, Mr. Dykeman," Cummings' voice had a wire edge on it, "the
Hanford block of stock in this bank has, as I think you very well know,
passed fully into Gilbert hands to-day."

"Thomas A. Gilbert," Dykeman was sparing of words.

"Captain Worth Gilbert's father," Whipple attempted pacification. "Mr.
Gilbert senior was