" Here Peter
pointed to the offices of some prominent bankers, where other
belated clerks were still at work under shaded gas-jets. "These
fellows don't want anything classic; they want something that'll
earn four per cent."
We were now opposite the Sub-Treasury, its roof lost in the
settling fogs, the bronze figure of the Father of His Country
dominating the flight of marble steps and the adjacent streets.
Again Peter wheeled; this time he lifted his hat to the statue.
"Good evening, your Excellency," he said in a voice mellowed to
the same respectful tone with which he would have addressed the
original in the flesh.
Suddenly he loosened his arm from mine and squared himself so he
could look into my face.
"I notice that you seldom salute him, Major, and it grieves me,"
he said with a grim smile.
I broke into a laugh. "Do you think he would feel hurt if I
didn't."
"Of course he would, and so should you. He wasn't put there for
ornament, my boy, but to be kept in mind, and I want to tell you
that there's no place in the world where his example is so much
needed as right here in Wall Street.
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