equential conversations with President
Bubble, and he knew its deposits and its surplus almost to the dollar.
Twice now he had checked out his entire account and borrowed nearly
the face of his bank stock, on short time, against his mere note of
hand, replacing the amounts quickly and at the same time depositing
large sums, which he almost immediately checked out again.

On the Saturday following Blackie Daw's departure all points had been
brought together: the drainage operation had been completed; walls had
been built about the three springs which supplied the swamp; the
foundation of the studio had been completed, and all his workmen paid
off and discharged; and the surplus of the Bubble Bank had reached
approximately its high-water mark.

On Sunday Wallingford, taking dinner with the Bubbles, unrolled a set
of drawings, showing a beautiful Colonial residence which he proposed
to build on vacant property he had that day bought, just east of Jonas
Bubble's home.

"Good!" approved Jonas with a clumsily bantering glance at his
daughter, who colored deliciously. "Going to get married and settle
down?"

"You never can tell," laughed Wallingford. "Whether I do or not,
however, the building of one or several houses like this would be a
good investment, for the highly paid decorators and modelers which the
pottery will employ will pay good rents."

Jonas nodded gravely.

"How easily success comes to men of enterprise and far-sightedness,"
he declared with hearty approbation, in which there was mixed a large
amount of self-complacency; for in thus complimenting Wallingford he
could not but compliment himself.

On Monday Wallingford walked into the Bubble Bank quite confidently.

"Bubble, how much is my balance?" he asked, as he had done several
times before.

Mr. Bubble, smiling, turned to his books.

"Three thousand one hundred and sixty-two dollars and fifty-eight
cents," said he.

"Why, I'm a pauper!" protested Wallingford. "I never could keep track
of my bank balance. Well, that isn't enough. I'll have to borrow
some."

"I guess we can arrange that," said Jonas with friendly, one might
almost say paternal, encouragement. "How much do you want?"

"Well, I'll have to have about forty-five thousand dollars, all told,"
replied Wallingford in an offhand manner.

He had come behind the railing, as he always did. He was leaning at
the end of Mr. Bubble's desk, his hands crossed before him. From
his finger spa