he Furmville National Bank, had called at the Brevord to see Mr.
Withers, who, still holding his room there, was waiting for the delayed
morning train.

Mr. Illington was of the true banker type, fifty years old, immaculately
dressed, thin of lip, hard of eye, slow and precise in his enunciation.
He had, apparently, estranged himself from any deep, human feeling. The
long handling of money had hardened him. His fingers were long and
grasping, and his voice was quite as metallic as the clink of gold coins
one upon the other.

At Mr. Withers' invitation he took a chair in Mr. Withers' room. He
rubbed his dry, slender hands together and cleared his throat, after
which he spoke his little set speech of condolence.

Mr. Withers, haggard from grief and lack of sleep, waved aside these
preliminary remarks.

The banker put his hand into his breast pocket and drew forth a bulky
envelope, from which he produced a long, rectangular piece of paper.

"I knew you would prefer to learn of this at first hand from the bank;
indeed, from me, its president. Yesterday, Mr. Withers, a promissory
note, a sixty-day note, for a thousand dollars fell due in the Furmville
National Bank. You might like to see it. Here it is."

He handed the piece of paper to Withers, who saw that the note had been
signed by Maria Fulton and endorsed by Enid Fulton Withers. The husband
of the dead woman was too astonished to comment.

"We acted as--as leniently in the matter as we could, perhaps more
leniently than was strictly proper in banking circles," Mr. Illington was
pleased to explain. "I myself called up Miss Fulton on the telephone
yesterday, but naturally she was so agitated that she seemed unable to
give me any information as to what she intended to do regarding
the--er--liquidation of this indebtedness."

"And," concluded Withers, passing the note back to him, "since my wife
was the endorser, it's up to me to make the note good, to pay the bank
the thousand dollars."

Mr. Illington was glad to see how thoroughly the bereaved husband
appreciated the situation.

"Quite right, entirely so," he said. "And will you?"

"Of course."

"Ahem--When?" inquired the banker, assuming an expression of casual
interest.

"I haven't that much money on deposit in Atlanta, but I can get it. I
return to Atlanta this afternoon. I can send the money to you tomorrow.
Will that answer?"

"Oh, perfectly, perfectly," assented Mr. Illington, much reassured. "We