"Say, you people!" cried Roy, with the familiarity of youth and long acquaintance, "you want to get a move on you.There's a new bank examiner over at the First, and he's a stem-winder.He's counting nickles on Perry, and he's got the whole outfit bluffed.Mr.Edlinger gave me the tip to let you know."
Mr.Buckley, president of the Stockmen's National--a stout, elderly man, looking like a farmer dressed for Sunday--heard Roy from his private office at the rear and called him.
"Has Major Kingman come down to the bank yet?" he asked of the boy.
"Yes, sir, he was just driving up as I left," said Roy.
"I want you to take him a note.Put it into his own hands as soon as you get back."
Mr.Buckley sat down and began to write.
Roy returned and handed to Major Kingman the envelope containing the note.The major read it, folded it, and slipped it into his vest pocket.He leaned back in his chair for a few moments as if he were meditating deeply, and then rose and went into the vault.He came out with the bulky, old-fashioned leather note case stamped on the back in gilt letters, "Bills Discounted." In this were the notes due the bank with their attached securities, and the major, in his rough way, dumped the lot upon his desk and began to sort them over.
By this time Nettlewick had finished his count of the cash.His pencil fluttered like a swallow over the sheet of paper on which he had set his figures.He opened his black wallet, which seemed to be also a kind of secret memorandum book, made a few rapid figures in it, wheeled and transfixed Dorsey with the glare of his spectacles.That look seemed to say: "You're safe this time, but--"
"Cash all correct," snapped the examiner.He made a dash for the individual bookkeeper, and, for a few minutes there was a fluttering of ledger leaves and a sailing of balance sheets through the air.
"How often do you balance your pass-books?" he demanded, suddenly.
"Er--once a month," faltered the individual bookkeeper, wondering how many years they would give him.
"All right," said the examiner, turning and charging upon the general bookkeeper, who had the statements of his foreign banks and their reconcilement memoranda ready.Everything there was found to be all right.Then the stub book of the certificates of deposit.Flutter--flutter--zip--zip--check! All right.List of over-drafts, please.
Thanks.H'm-m.Unsigned bills of the bank, next.All right.
Then came the cashier's turn, and easy-going Mr.Edlinger rubbed his nose and polished his glasses nervously under the quick fire of questions concerning the circulation, undivided profits, bank real estate, and stock ownership.
Presently Nettlewick was aware of a big man towering above him at his elbow--a man sixty years of age, rugged and hale, with a rough, grizzled beard, a mass of gray hair, and a pair of penetrating blue eyes that confronted the formidable glasses of the examiner without a flicker.
"Er--Major Kingman, our president--er--Mr.Nettlewick," said the cashier.
Two men of very different types shook hands.One was a finished product of the world of straight lines, conventional methods, and formal affairs.The other was something freer, wider, and nearer to nature.Tom Kingman had not been cut to any pattern.He had been mule-driver, cowboy, ranger, soldier, sheriff, prospector, and cattleman.Now, when he was bank president, his old comrades from the prairies, of the saddle, tent, and trail found no change in him.He had made his fortune when Texas cattle were at the high tide of value, and had organized the First National Bank of San Rosario.In spite of his largeness of heart and sometimes unwise generosity toward his old friends, the bank had prospered, for Major Tom Kingman knew men as well as he knew cattle.Of late years the cattle business had known a depression, and the major's bank was one of the few whose losses had not been great.
"And now," said the examiner, briskly, pulling out his watch, "the last thing is the loans.We will take them up now, if you please."
He had gone through the First National at almost record-breaking speed --but thoroughly, as he did everything.The running order of the bank was smooth and clean, and that had facilitated his work.There was but one other bank in the town.He received from the Government a fee of twenty-five dollars for each bank that he examined.He should be able to go over those loans and discounts in half an hour.If so, he could examine the other bank immediately afterward, and catch the 11.45, the only other train that day in the direction he was working.Otherwise, he would have to spend the night and Sunday in this uninteresting Western town.That was why Mr.Nettlewick was rushing matters.
"Come with me, sir," said Major Kingman, in his deep voice, that united the Southern drawl with the rhythmic twang of the West; "We will go over them together.Nobody in the bank knows those notes as I do.Some of 'em are a little wobbly on their legs, and some are mavericks without extra many brands on their backs, but they'll most all pay out at the round-up."
The two sat down at the president's desk.First, the examiner went through the notes at lightning speed, and added up their total, finding it to agree with the amount of loans carried on the book of daily balances.Next, he took up the larger loans, inquiring scrupulously into the condition of their endorsers or securities.The new examiner's mind seemed to course and turn and make unexpected dashes hither and thither like a bloodhound seeking a trail.Finally he pushed aside all the notes except a few, which he arranged in a neat pile before him, and began a dry, formal little speech.
"I find, sir, the condition of your bank to be very good, considering the poor crops and the depression in the cattle interests of your state.The clerical work seems to be done accurately and punctually.
