ord, a familiar and imposing figure at all
the Agricultural Shows in the Midlands.

His only son George was in his father's opinion a sport. Certainly he
was no true Silver: that was obvious from his earliest years. He cared
nothing for a horse, was a shamefully bad judge of a beast, had no
feeling for the fields, never knew the real poetic thrill at the sight
and smell of a yard knee deep in muck, and hated mud and rain.

"More of a scholar," said his father regretfully. "All for books and
studyin'."

Mr. Silver, wise as are those who come into contact with Nature at first
hand, did not interfere with his son's queer predilections or attempt to
stay his development on the lines of instinctive preference, aiding the
boy indeed in every way to make the most of himself on the path he had
chosen.

Thus he sent him to the Grammar School at Leicester. The boy went
joyfully: for he was very modern. The town, the books, the people, the
streets, the hum of business, the opening gates of knowledge, pleased
and contented his insatiable young spirit. The father had the reward of
his daring. George did famously and became in time Captain of the
School. The farmer attended prize-giving, and watched his son march up
to the table time after time amidst the cheers of his school-fellows.

"George has got the red rosette again, Mr. Silver," smiled the
Headmaster.

"So I see," replied the farmer. "But the showring's one thing, work's
another." And when pressed to send his son on to a University he
refused.

"He'll get an exhibition," urged the Headmaster.

The father was not impressed.

"Moderation in all things," he said, shaking a shrewd head. "Edication
as well. He's stood out long enough. Time he began to 'arn."

The Headmaster's arguments were of no avail.

"I'd got all the schooling I needed by then I was eleven. He's had till
he's eighteen. If it's to be of any good to him it'll be good now," said
Mr. Silver.

To his surprise and secret pleasure his son backed him. He didn't want
to go to a University.

"It's not much use unless you're a classic," the boy said. "And I'm a
mathematician."

Besides he had his own clear-cut views of what he wished to do. And
those views were very strange. He wanted to go into a Bank.

"Bank!" cried the amazed father. "Set at a counter all day and calcalate
sums?"

The boy grinned behind his spectacles in his foolish way.

"That's about it," he said.

"Well, I never!" cried the