Gibbs, the banker.
Of course Dick had seen him many times before; but somehow he had always
viewed Harvey Gibbs as one placed upon a pedestal, far removed from the
common herd; as a boy he could understand such people as Ezra Squires
and Mr. Graylock, but a silent man, known as a shrewd financier, was far
beyond his ken.
Mr. Gibbs had been writing, but looking up as the boy entered he smiled
pleasantly as though pleased with his appearance.
"Sit down here a minute or two, Richard, until I finish this paper,
which is of importance, and requires my signature later. I will be ready
to talk with you presently," he said, moving a chair out in a kindly
way.
So Dick waited, meanwhile looking curiously around him at the luxurious
office, which, in his eyes was as finely furnished as any palace could
be.
He was pleased to think that his business was to be transacted with Mr.
Gibbs in person rather than through the medium of the teller, Ross
Goodwyn, a small keen-eyed young-old man with a bald head, and doubtless
the capacity to fit him for his responsible job, but whom Dick had never
liked; twice he had talked with him on matters connected with his
mother's affairs, and each time the cashier had seemed to take a cruel
pleasure in making him "feel small," as Dick himself expressed it.
Still, if he was to come into this institution as an employee he would
have to get over this feeling toward Mr.
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