ished. Their fathers dealt there, they deal
themselves, and if a new-comer takes up his residence he is advised to do
likewise.

A visitor desirous of looking on the outside, at least of country banking,
would naturally be conducted to the old Bank. If it were an ordinary day,
_i.e._ not a market or fair, he might stand on the pavement in front
sunning himself without the least inconvenience from the passenger
traffic. He would see, on glancing Up and down the street, one or two aged
cottage women going in or out of the grocer's, a postman strolling round,
and a distant policeman at the farthest corner. A sprinkling of boys
playing marbles at the side of the pavement, and two men loading a waggon
with sacks of flour from a warehouse, complete the scene as far as human
life is concerned. There are dogs basking on doorsteps, larger dogs
rambling with idleness in the slow sway of their tails, and overhead black
swifts (whose nests are in the roofs of the higher houses) dash to and
fro, uttering their shrill screech.

The outer door of the bank is wide open--fastened back--ostentatiously
open, and up the passage another mahogany door, closed, bears a polished
brazen plate with the word 'Manager' engraved upon it. Everything within
is large and massive. The swing door itself yields with the slow motion of
solidity, and unless you are agile as it closes in the rear, thrusts you
forward like a strong gale. The apartment is large and lofty: there is
room for a crowd, but at present there is no one at the counter. It is
long enough and broad enough for the business of twenty customers at once;
so broad that the clerks on the other side are beyond arm's reach. But
they have shovels with which to push the gold towards you, and in a small
glass stand is a sponge kept constantly damp, across which the cashier
draws his finger as he counts the silver, the slight moisture enabling him
to sort the coin more swiftly.

The fittings are perfect, as perfect as in a London bank, and there is an
air of extreme precision. Yonder open drawers are full of pass-books; upon
the desks and on the broad mantelpiece are piles of cheques, not scattered
in disorder but arranged in exact heaps. The very inkstands are heavy and
vast, and you just catch a glimpse round the edge of the semi-sentry box
which guards the desk of the chief cashier, of a ledger so huge that the
mind can hardly realise the extent of the business which requires such
ponderous v