"You concede that, of course," emphasized Mr. Gilman shrewdly, as if he could not be at ease with his caller until that matter was settled.
"I could not admit that—no, Mr. Gilman," George returned quickly; "unless I would admit that you are the kind of man who, if one bank in which he trusted had failed, would thereafter never trust any bank."
"Hey!" grunted the banker, pricked with surprise and frowning again.
"I mean, Mr. Gilman," elaborated George, his eyes glowing with earnest intent to avoid giving offense, "that you are too shrewd and too discerning a man not to have gathered in our brief ride, even though it terminated unfortunately, a certain amount of faith in and fascination for the gasoline automobile."
"Fascination, fiddlesticks!" the injured man exclaimed irritably. "I'm sick to death with automobiles and with hearing about them."
"It's this way, Mr. Gilman," George explained, ingratiatingly. "We are engaged in the manufacture of one of civilization's greatest necessities. Once civilization gets it, all business, all pleasure, all comfort will roll along faster. Just that little experience of yours last night should convince you. You were injured—let us forget how—and it is an automobile that conveys you swiftly and safely to your home. It is an automobile that brings your family phy-
