Bingle. Pleasant day, sir, isn't it?"
If Mr. Bingle had been in a condition to notice such things as
miracles, he might have been struck by this one, but he merely said it
WAS a pleasant day and resumed his way, utterly oblivious to the fact
that a human being had been completely transformed before his very
eyes. A few steps farther on he encountered an even mightier force
than the third assistant foreign teller: the bank detective.
"Good morning, Mr. Bingle. Nice day, sir," said the bank detective,
somewhat eagerly, and stood aside to let the lowly bookkeeper pass
without being jostled--as was the custom.
"Morning," said Mr. Bingle, still unimpressed. It seemed to him that
every one was evincing a singular interest in the fact that he was
about to be discharged on a pleasant day.
Mr. Force was seated at his desk when Bingle entered the room and
found himself in the presence of the man who was certain to become
president when "the old man" died--an event that would have to occur
if the first vice-president's dream of elevation ever came true, for
there wasn't the remotest likelihood that he would have the sense of
decency to resign, no matter how old or how senile he became in the
course of time.
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