ame
clamorous; it echoed along the dreaming corridors. Mr. Johnson sighed
again.

The stone sill upon which he leaned reflected from its polished surface a
face carved to patience; but if the patient face had noted its own
reflection it might have remarked--and adjusted--eyebrows not so patient,
flattened to a level; and a slight quiver in the tip of a predatory nose.
The pen squeaked across glazed paper. Mr. Johnson took from his pocket a
long, thin cigar and a box of safety matches.

The match crackled, startling in the silence; the clerical person turned
in his chair and directed at the prospective customer a stare so baleful
that the cigar was forgotten. The flame nipped Johnson's thumb; he
dropped the match on the tiled floor and stepped upon it. The clerk
hesitated and then rose.

"He loves me--he loves me not!" murmured Mr. Johnson sadly, plucking the
petals from an imaginary daisy.

The clerk sauntered to the teller's wicket and frowned upon his customer
from under eyebrows arched and supercilious; he preserved a haughty
silence. Before this official disapproval Peter's eyes wavered and fell,
abashed.

"I'll--I'll stick my face through there if you'd like to step on it!" he
faltered.

The official eyebrows grew arrogant.

"You are wasting my time. Have you any business here?"

"Ya-as. Be you the cashier?"

"His assistant."

"I'd like to borrow some money," said Pete timidly. He tucked away the
unlit cigar. "Two thousand. Name of Johnson. Triangle E brand--Yavapai
County! Two hundred Herefords in a fenced township. Three hundred and
twenty acres patented land. Sixty acres under ditch. I'd give you a
mortgage on that. Pete Johnson--Peter Wallace Johnson on mortgages and
warrants."

"I do not think we would consider it."

"Good security--none better," said Pete. "Good for three times two
thousand at a forced sale."

"Doubtless!" The official shoulders shrugged incredulity.

"I'm known round here--you could look up my standing, verify titles, and
so on," urged Pete.

"I could not make the loan on my own authority."

Pete's face fell.

"Can't I see Mr. Gans, then?" he persisted.

"He's out to luncheon."

"Be back soon?"

"I really could not say."

"I might talk to Mr. Longman, perhaps?"

"Mr. Longman is on a trip to the Coast."

Johnson twisted his fingers nervously on the onyx sill. Then he raised
his downcast eyes, lit with a fresh hope.

"Is--is the janitor in?" he asked.

"You