Part 16 (1/2)

Hotel registers are fine evidence. Always keep your registers.”

”I've had that one eleven years, and it 'ain't been filled up yet,”

averred Mr. Files, inspecting the potentate's signature as sourly as if he were estimating by how much the lavish use of ink had reduced the possible dinner profit. ”You're the new appointment, hey? I heard you speak, one time, over at the political rally in the s.h.i.+re town.”

”Both my enemies and my friends would have advised you to stay right here on your porch--saying that you could hear me just as well, if you didn't care to make the trip to the s.h.i.+re,” said Mr. Starr, lifting the mat of his mustache in a wide smile. ”But when they call me 'Foghorn Fremont' I'm never one mite offended. 'Let your light s.h.i.+ne and your voice be heard,' is my motto in politics.”

”Shouldn't wonder if it's a good one, when they get to pa.s.sing around the offices,” admitted Files. He started on his way to the kitchen.

At that moment President Britt entered, having answered the gong with the prompt.i.tude of a fireman chasing a box alarm.

”What have you on the fire, landlord?” called Mr. Starr, absorbed in the dinner topic.

”Boiled dinner!”

Britt did not show the enthusiasm that was exhibited by the other guest.

”Nothing like a boiled dinner after a long ride,” Mr. Starr affirmed.

”Plenty of cabbage with mine, if you'll be so kind!”

Files gave Mr. Britt some information that he thought might be of interest. ”Here's the new bank examiner. Seeing that you probably have business together, I'll set both of you at the same table.” He retired.

After the commonplaces of getting acquainted, the two tacked the boiled dinner.

”Let's see--who's your cas.h.i.+er?” inquired Starr, chewing vigorously behind the mask of his mustache.

”Young fellow named Vaniman. I have let him take full charge of the bank business. He seems to know all the ropes.”

”Poor policy, Britt! Poor policy!” stated the examiner, vehemently. ”Not a word to say against Vaniman--” He halted on the word and opened his eyes on Britt. ”Vaniman! A name that sticks. There was a Vaniman of Verona. Easy to remember! There was some sort of a money snarl, as I recollect.”

”It was the young chap's father.”

”And you're letting the son run your bank?”

”I'm not the kind that visits the sins of the fathers on the children,”

loftily stated the president. ”Furthermore, a burnt child dreads the fire. I heard a railroad manager say that a trainman who had let an accident happen by his negligence was worth twice as much to the road as he was before. You don't say that I made a bad pick, do you?”

”Not a word to say against Vaniman!” repeated Starr, slas.h.i.+ng his cabbage. ”I never _guess_ about any proposition--I go at it! But what I'm saying to you, Britt, is what I'm saying to all the easy-going country-town bankers. 'You may have second editions of the Apostle Paul for your cas.h.i.+ers,' I say, 'but every time you sign a statement of condition without close and careful audit you're bearing false witness.'

And being a new broom that proposes to sweep clean, I'm tempted to poke it just as hard to slack presidents and directors as I am to an embezzling cas.h.i.+er who has been given plenty of rope to run as he wants!

_I'm_ on the job _examining_ banks!” He was a vigorous man, Examiner Starr! He showed it by the way he went at his corned beef.

President Britt was perturbed; his eyes s.h.i.+fted; he was even pale. ”If that's the way you feel about it, I hope you'll give our little bank a good going-over. I was glad to read of your appointment, Mr. Starr!”

”Uncle Whittum isn't on this job any longer,” stated the examiner, not needing, in Britt's case, as a banker, to dwell upon the lax methods of the easy-going predecessor.

A half hour later, Starr, with his unb.u.t.toned fur-lined overcoat outspread as he strode, giving him the aspect of a scaling aeroplane, marched from the tavern to the bank with Britt.

Vaniman had his mouth opened to welcome a man named Barnes, but he was presented to Bank-Examiner Starr and surprise placed him at a disadvantage in the meeting. The torpor of drowsiness made him appear stupid and ill at ease in the presence of this forceful man who stamped in and proceeded to exploit and enjoy his newly acquired authority. Mr.

Starr hung up his coat and hat and swooped like a hawk on the daybook, at the same time calling for the book of ”petty cash.”