There was only one break in this routine, one occasion for alarm, and the alarm was but temporary.  Frank heard footsteps in the corridor one evening after he had come back to the bank from the Squire’s house.  Almost immediately Mr. Britt used his key and appeared to the young man.  “I waited till I was sure you were here,” the president explained.  “What Hexter doesn’t know won’t hurt him—­and I thought I’d better not come to the house for you.  I’m sorry it’s so late.”  Britt was anxiously apologetic.

“It isn’t very late, sir.”

“But it’s late, considering what’s on my mind, Frank.  And now that I’m here I hate to tell you what my errand is.”  He fumbled in his pocket and brought out a letter, tapped it with his forefinger, and replaced it.  “I got it in the mail after you had gone to supper.”

“If it’s any matter where I can be of help, sir, you needn’t be a bit afraid to speak out.”

“You can help, but—­” After his hesitation Britt plunged on.  “I wrote to that broker that I was feeling a little under the weather and was postponing my trip to the city, and now that fool of a Barnes writes back that he’s starting right behind his letter to come up here to arrange about taking over the specie and closing the deal, because the market is just right to act.  And the through train, the one he’ll be sure to take, hits Levant about two o’clock to-morrow morning.  He asks me to send somebody down to meet him.  That’s all one of those taxicab patronizers knows about traveling conditions in the country.  Frank, unless you’ll volunteer to go I’ll have to go myself.  I don’t want that man talking all the way up here with old Files’s gabby hostler, or with anybody else I send from the village.”

Vaniman, even though he tried to make Britt’s reasons for the request seem convincing, could not help feeling that the financier’s natural secretiveness in matters of personal business was stretched somewhat in this instance.  But he gulped back any hesitation and offered to go on the errand.

“Frank, when I was having my run of foolishness I was sorry that you are young.  Now I’m mighty glad of it,” declared Britt.  “I can take your place in yonder on the cot for the night—­and I’m going to do it.  But I’ll be frank enough to say that I’d rather you’d ride to Levant and back in a sleigh to-night than do it myself.  Go rout up Files’s hostler, borrow his fur coat, and bundle up warm.  It’s good slipping along the road, and the trip may have a little pep for you, after all.”

And, putting away his momentary doubts, Frank reflected on the matter and was honestly glad to vary the monotony of his close confinement to the bank.

So he went and roused Files’s hostler, bundled himself in the coat and the sleigh robes, and made a really joyous experience out of the trip to Levant, under the stars and over the snow that was crisped by the night’s chill.

He waited beside the station platform, standing up in the sleigh and peering eagerly after the train stopped.  He called the name, “Mr. Barnes,” until the few sleepy, slouching, countrified passengers who alighted had passed on their way.