There was more commotion on the street than he had seen in some days.  Men were hurrying at a quicker pace than the rapid gait which was always noticeable in that thoroughfare.  Groups occasionally formed and, after a word or two, dispersed.  Newsboys were crying extras and announcing some important news in an unintelligible jargon.  Messengers were dashing about, rushing in and out of the big buildings.  Something unusual was evidently going on.  As Keith, on his way to the bank of which Mr. Creamer was president, passed the mouth of the street in which Norman’s office was situated, he looked down and saw quite a crowd assembled.  The street was full.  He passed on, however, and went into the big building, on the first floor of which Creamer’s bank had its offices.  He walked through to the rear of the office, to the door of Mr. Creamer’s private office, and casually asked the nearest clerk for Mr. Creamer.  The young man said he was engaged.  Keith, however, walked up to the door, and was about to knock, when, at a word spoken by his informant, another clerk came hastily forward and said that Mr. Creamer was very busily engaged and could see no one.

“Well, he will see me,” said Keith, feeling suddenly the courage that the possession of over a quarter of a million dollars gave, and he boldly knocked on the door, and, without waiting to be invited in, opened it.

Mr. Creamer was sitting at his desk, and two or three other men, one or two of whom Keith had seen before, were seated in front of him in close conference.  They stared at the intruder.

“Mr. Keith.”  Mr. Creamer’s tone conveyed not the least feeling, gave no idea either of welcome or surprise.

“Excuse me for interrupting you for a moment,” said Keith.  “I want to open an account here.  I have a draft on London, which I should like to deposit and have you collect for me.”

The effect was immediate; indeed, one might almost say magical.  The atmosphere of the room as suddenly changed as if May should be dropped into the lap of December.  The old banker’s face relaxed.  He touched a bell under the lid of his desk, and at the same moment pushed back his chair.

“Gentlemen, let me introduce my friend, Mr. Keith.”  He presented Keith in turn to each of his companions, who greeted him with that degree of mingled reserve and civility which is due to a man who has placed a paper capable of effecting such a marked change in the hands of the most self-contained banker in Bankers’ Row.

A tap at the door announced an answer to the bell, and the next moment a clerk came in.

“Ask Mr. Penwell to come here,” said Mr. Creamer.  “Mr. Penwell is the head of our foreign department,” he added in gracious explanation to Keith.

“Mr. Keith, gentlemen, is largely interested in some of those Southern mining properties that you have heard me speak of; and has just put through a very fine deal with an English syndicate.”