nervous way that he realized that this failure of his son 
had done the bank—owing to his connection with it— 
great injury. 
" I know," he said, strumming with his thin, white, 
bony fingers on his handsome mahogany desk, which 
would soon be his no longer, " that my connection with 
the bank now is a serious handicap to it." 
Frewen Kasson, a short, stocky, well-built, magnetic, 
attractive man of fifty, breathed an inward sigh of relief. 
It was so urgent that Cowperwood, Sr., should do 
this. " I have been with it now nearly thirty-eight 
years," Henry Cowperwood continued; but at the thought 
of the long, long years, which had really been his life, 
spent with this one institution, his voice failed him, and 
he got up and went to the widow. A suspicious stiffen- 
ing of the shoulders told Mr. Kasson that he was under- 
going a great inward struggle, and the latter felt sorry 
for him. He came back after a time, however, and sat 
" It's hard; it's hard," he said, suddenly rubbing his 
hands weakly; and he got up again, unable to speak. 
Mr. Kasson choked slightly. 
" I know it is, Mr. Cowperwood," he said, sympatheti- 
cally. " I wish you wouldn't try to talk now. I know 
exactly what you would wish to say. We—and I can 
speak for the other members of the board, for although we 
haven't talked about it as yet, I. know how they feel—we 
feel keenly the unfortunate nature of your position. We 
know exactly how it is that your son has become involved 
in this matter. He is not the only banker who has been 
involved in the city's affairs. It is an old system. We 
appreciate, all of us, keenly, the services you have ren- 
dered this institution. They have been notable and un- 
broken. If there were any possible way in which we 
could help to tide you over your difficulties at this time, 
we would be glad to do so; but as a banker yourself you 
realize just how difficult this is just now. Everything is