ld-be candidates
for Mildred's hand. He pooh-poohed love as a necessity for marital
felicity, and would enforce his argument by quoting from the bard:

"All lovers swear more performance than they are able, and yet reserve
an ability that they never perform; vowing more than the perfection of
ten, and discharging less than the tenth part of one."

"You can get at a man's income," he would say, "but not at his heart.
Love without money won't travel as far as money without love," and
many married people whose bills were overdue wondered if the old
fellow was not right.

He was cold-blooded and generally disliked by the men under him. The
more evil-minded gossips in the bank said he was in league with "Old
Nick." That, of course, was absurd, for it does not necessarily
follow, because a man suggests a means looking to an end, disreputable
though it be, that he has Mephistopheles for a silent partner. The
conservative element among the employees would not openly venture so
far, but rather thought if his satanic majesty and old Sanders ran a
race, the former would come in a bad second, if he were not distanced
altogether.

The old man always reached the office at nine. Mr. Wallace usually
arrived a half hour later, seldom earlier, which was so well
understood by Sanders that he was greatly surprised when he walked
into the president's office, the morning after that gentleman had
attended Diotti's concert, to find the head of the firm already there
and apparently waiting for him.

"Sanders," said the banker, "I want your advice on a matter of great
importance and concern to me."

Sanders came across the room and stood beside the desk.

"Briefly as possible, I am much exercised about my daughter."

The old man moved up a chair and buried himself in it. Pressing his
elbows tightly against his sides, he drew his neck in, and with the
tips of his right hand fingers consorted and coquetted with their like
on the opposite hand; then he simply asked, "Who is the man?"

"He is the violinist who has created such a sensation here, Angelo
Diotti."

"Yes, I've seen the name in print," returned the old man.

"He has bewitched Mildred. I never have seen her show the least
interest in a man before. She never has appeared to me as an
impressionable girl or one that could easily be won."

"That is very true," ejaculated Sanders; "she always seemed tractable
and open to reason in all questions of love and courting. I can recall