Ovington's Bank

by Stanley John Weyman

  CHAPTER XXXVI

  The news of the failures which convulsed the City on that Black Mondaydid not reach Aldersbury until late on the Tuesday--the tidings camein with the mails. But hours before that, and even before the openingof the bank, things in the town had come to a climax. The women,always more practical than the men and less squeamish, had takenfright and been talking. In many a back parlor in Maerdol, and theForegate, and on the Cop, wives had spoken their minds. They wouldn'tbe scared out of asking for their own, by any banker that ever lived,they said. Not they! "Would you, Mrs. Gittins?" quoth one.

  "Not I, ma'am, if I had it to ask for, as your goodman has. I'd notsleep another night before I had it tight and right."

  "No more he shall! What, rob his children for fear of a stuffy oldman's black looks? But I'll see him into the bank myself, and see thathe brings it out, too! I'll answer for that!"

  "And you're in the right, ma'am, seeing it's yours. Money's not thateasy got we're to be robbed of it. Now those notes with CO. on themthey're money anyways, I suppose? There's nothing can alter them, I'mthinking. I've two of them at home, that my lad----"

  "Oh, Mrs. Gittins!" And superior information raised its hands inhorror. "You understand nothing at all. Don't you know they're theworst of all? If those shutters--go--up at that bank," dramatically,"they'll not be worth the paper they're printed on! You take my adviceand go this very minute and buy something at Purslow's or Bowdler's,and get them changed. And you'll thank me for that word, Mrs. Gittins,as long as you live."

  Upset was not the word for Mrs. Gittins, who had thought herselfoutside the fray. "Well, they be thieves and liars!" she gasped. "AndDean's too, ma'am? You don't mean to say----"

  "I wouldn't answer even for them," darkly. "If you ask me, I'd letsome one else have 'em, Mrs. Gittins. Thank the Lord, I've none ofthem on my mind!"

  And on that Mrs. Gittins waddled away, and two minutes later stoodin Purslow's shop, inwardly "all of a twitter," but outwardly lookingas if butter would not melt in her mouth. But, alas! Purslow's was outof change that day; and so, strange to say, was Bowdler's. Mostunlucky--great scarcity of silver--Government's fault--should theybook it? But Mrs. Gittins, although she was all of a twitter, as sheexplained afterwards, was not so innocent as that, and got awaywithout making her purchase.

  Still, that was the way talk went, up and down Bride Hill and inShocklatch, at front door and back door alike. And the men were notill-content to be bidden. Some had passed a sleepless night, and hadalready made up their minds not to pass another. Others had had anudge or a jog of the elbow from a knowing friend, and had been madeas wise by a raised eyebrow as by an hour's sermon. Worse still, somehad got hold of a story first set afloat at the Gullet--the Gullet wasthe ancient low-browed tavern in the passage by the Market Place,where punch flowed of a night, and the tradesmen of the town and someof their betters were in the habit of supping, as their fathers andgrandfathers had supped before them. Arthur's departure, quicklyfollowed by Clement's--after dark and in a post-chaise, mark you!--hadnot passed without comment; and a wiseacre had been found to explainit. At first he had confined himself to nods and winks, but beingcornered and at the same time uplifted by liquor--for though thecurious could taste saloop at the Gullet, Heathcote's ale was more tothe taste of the habitues, when they did not run to punch--he haswhispered a word, which had speedily passed round the circle and notbeen slow to go beyond it.

  "Gone! Of course they're gone!" was the knowing one's verdict. "Andyou'll see the old man will be gone, too, before morning, and thestrong-box with him! Open? No, they'll not open? Never again, teno'clock or no ten o'clock. Well, if you must have it, I got it fromWolley not an hour back. And he ought to know. Wasn't he hand in glovewith them? Director of the--oh, the Railroad Shares? Waste paper!Never were worth more, my lad. If you put your money into that, it'son its way to London by this time!"

  "And Boulogne to-morrow," said another, going one better, as heknocked the ashes out of his pipe. "I'm seventy-five down by them, andthat's the worst and the best for me! Those that are in deeper, I'msorry for them, but they've only themselves to thank! It's been plainthis month past what was going to happen."

  One or two were tempted to ask why he hadn't drawn out hisseventy-five pounds, if he had been so sure. But they refrained,having a wambling, a sort of sick feeling in the pit of theirstomachs. He was a rude, overbearing fellow, and there was no knowingwhat he might not bring out by way of retort.

  The upshot of this and of a hundred other reports which ran about thetown like wild-fire, was that a full twenty minutes before the bankopened on the Tuesday, its doors were the butt of a hundred eyes. Manyassembled by twos and threes in the High Street and on the MarketPlace, awaiting the hour; while others took up their stand in thedingy old Butter Cross a little above the bank, where day in and dayout old crones sat knitting and the poultry women's baskets stood onmarket days. Few thought any longer of concealment; the time for thatwas past, the feeling of anxiety was too deep and too widespread. Mencame together openly, spoke of their fears and cursed the banker, ornervously fingered their pass-books, and compared the packets of notesthat they had with them.

  Some watched the historic clock, but more watched, and more eagerly,the bank. The door, the opening of which, if it were ever opened,meant so much to so many, must have shrunk, seasoned wood as it was,under the intensity of the gaze fixed upon it; while the windows ofthe bank-house--ugh! the pretender, to set himself up after thatfashion, while all the time he was robbing the poor!--were exposed toa fire as constant. Not a curtain moved or a blind was lowered, butthe action was marked and analyzed, deductions drawn from it, andarguments based upon it. That was Ovington's bedroom! No, that. Andthere was his girl at the lower window--but he would not have beenlikely to take her with him in any case.

  As a fact, had they been on the watch a little earlier, they wouldhave been spared one anxiety. For about nine o'clock Ovington hadshown himself. He had left the house, crossed with a grave face to theMarket Place, and rung the bell at Dean's. He had entered after abrief parley with an amazed man-servant, had been admitted to see oneof the partners, and at a cost to his pride, which only he couldmeasure, the banker had stooped to ask for help. Between concernsdoing business in the same town, relations must exist and transactionsmust pass even when they are in competition; and Dean's and Ovington'shad been no exception to the rule. But the elder bank had neverforgotten that they had once enjoyed a monopoly. They had neitherabandoned their claims nor made any secret of their hostility, andOvington knew that it was to the last degree unlikely that they wouldsupport him, even if they had the power to do so.

  But he had convinced himself that it was his duty to make the attempt,however hopeless it might seem, and however painful to himself--andfew things in his life had been more painful. To play the suppliant,he who had raised his head so high, and by virtue of an undoubtedtouch of genius had carried it so loftily, this was bad enough. But toplay the suppliant to the very persons on whom he had trespassed, andwhom he had defied, to open his distresses to those to whom he hadpretended to teach a newer and sounder practice, to acknowledge inact, if not in word, that they had been right and he wrong, thisindeed was enough to wring the proud man's heart, and bring theperspiration to his brow.

  Yet he performed the task with the dignity, of which, as he had risenin the world, he had learned the trick, and which even at this momentdid not desert him. "I am going to be frank with you, Mr. Dean," hesaid when the door had closed on the servant and the two stood eye toeye. "There is going, I fear, to be a run on me to-day, andunfortunately I have been disappointed in a sum of twelve thousandpounds, which I expected to receive. I do not need the whole,two-thirds of the sum will meet all the demands which are likely to bemade upon me, and to cover that sum I can lodge undeniable security,bills with good names--I have a list here and you can examine it. Isuggest, Mr. Dean, that in your own interests as well as in mine youhelp me. For if I am compelled to clo
se--and I cannot deny that I mayhave to close, though I trust for a short time only--it is certainthat a very serious run will be made upon you."

  Mr. Dean's eyes remained cold and unresponsive. "We are prepared tomeet it," he answered frostily. "We are not afraid." He was a tallman, thin and dry, without a spark of imagination, or enterprise. Aman whose view was limited to his ledger, and who, if he had notinherited a business, would never have created one.

  "You are aware that Poles' and Williams's have failed?"

  "Yes. I believe that our information is up to date."

  "And that Garrard's at Hereford closed yesterday?"

  "I am sorry to hear it."

  "The times are very serious, Mr. Dean. Very serious."

  "We have foreseen that," the other replied. They were both standing."The truth is, we are paying for a period of reckless trading,encouraged in my humble opinion, Mr. Ovington"--he could not refrainfrom the stab--"by those who should have restrained it."

  Ovington let that pass. He had too much at stake to retort."Possibly," he said. "Possibly. But we have now to deal with thepresent--as it exists. It is on public rather than on private groundsthat I appeal to you, Mr. Dean. A disaster threatens the community. Iappeal to you to help me to avert it. As I have said, securities shallbe placed in your hands, more than sufficient to cover the risk.Approved securities to your satisfaction."

  But the other shook his head. He was enjoying his triumph--a triumphbeyond his hopes. "What you suggest," he said, a faint note of sarcasmin his tone, "comes to this, Mr. Ovington--that we pool resources?That is how I understand you?"

  "Practically."

  "Well, I am afraid that in justice to our customers I must reply thatwe cannot do that. We must think of them first, and of ourselvesnext."

  Ovington took up his hat. The other's tone was coldly decisive. Stillhe made a last effort. "Here is the list," he said. "Perhaps if youand your brother went over it at your leisure?"

  But Dean waved the list away. "It would be useless," he said. "Quiteuseless. We could not entertain the idea." He was already anticipatingthe enjoyment with which he would tell his brother the news.

  With a heavy heart, Ovington replaced the list in his breast pocket."Very good," he said. His face was grave. "I did not expect--to befrank--any other answer, Mr. Dean. But I thought it was my duty to seeyou. I regret your decision. Good-morning."

  "Good-morning," the other banker replied, and he rang for hisman-servant.

  "They're gone," he reflected complacently, as the door closed behindhis visitor. "Smashed, begad!" and with the thought he rid himself ofa sense of inferiority which had more than once troubled him in hisrival's presence. He sat down to eat his breakfast with a goodappetite. The day would be a trying one, but Dean's, at any rate, wassafe. Dean's, thank God, had never put its hand out farther than itcould draw it back. How pleased his brother would be!

  That was the worst, immeasurably the worst, of Ovington's experiences,but it was not the only painful interview that was in store for himbefore the bank opened that morning. Twice, men, applying, stealthyand importunate, at the back door, forced their way in to him. Theywere not of those who had claims on the bank and feared to be losersby it. They were in debt to it, but desperate and pushed for moneythey saw in the bank's necessity their opportunity. They--one of thetwo was Purslow--required only small sums, and both had conceived theidea that, as the bank was about to fail, it would be all one toOvington whether he obliged them or not. It would be but a hundred orso the less for the creditors, and as the bank had sold their pledgedstocks they thought that it owed them something. They had stillinfluence, their desperate straits were not yet known; if he obligedthem they would do this and that and the other--nebulous things--forhim.

  Ovington, of course, could do nothing for them, but to harden hisheart against their appeals was not a good preparation for the workbefore him, and when he entered the bank five minutes before ten, hehad to brace himself in order to show an unmoved front to the clerks.

  He need not have troubled himself. Rodd knew all, and the two lads, ontheir way to the bank that morning, had been badgered out of suchpowers of observation as they possessed. They had been followed,cornered, snatched in this direction and that, rudely questioned, eventhreatened. Were they going to open? Where was the gaffer? Was hegone? They had been wellnigh bothered out of their lives, and morethan once had been roughly handled. It seemed as if all Aldersbury wasagainst them--and they did not like it. But Ovington had the knack ofattaching men to him, the lads were loyal, and they had returned onlyhard words to those who waylaid them. Pay? They could pay all thedirty money in Aldersbury! Mr. Ovington? Well, they'd see. They'd seewhere he was, and be licking his boots in a week's time. And they'dbetter take their hands off them! The stouter even threatenedfisticuffs. A little more and he'd give his questioners a lick overthe chops. Come now, give over, or he'd show them a trick of DutchSam's they wouldn't like.

  The two arrived at the bank, panting and indignant, their coats halfoff their backs; and Rodd, whose impeccable respectability no one hadventured to assail, had to say a few sharp words before they settleddown and the counter assumed the calm and orderly aspect that, in hiseyes, the occasion required. He was himself simmering withindignation, but he let no sign of it appear. He had made all hisarrangements beforehand, seen every book in its place, and the cashwhere it could be handled--and a decent quantity, sufficient to imposeon the vulgar--laid in sight. After a few words had been exchangedbetween him and Ovington, the latter retired to the desk behind thecurtain, and the other three took their places. Nothing remained butto watch--the seniors with trepidation, the juniors with a notunpleasant excitement--the minute hand of the clock. It wanted threeminutes of ten.

  And already, though from their places behind the counter the clerkscould not see it, the watching groups before the bank had grown into acrowd. It lined the opposite pavement, it hung a fringe two-deep onthe steps of the Butter Cross, it extended into the Market Place, itstretched itself half-way down the hill. And it made itself heard. Thevoices of those who passed along the pavement, the scraps of talk halfcaught, the sudden exclamation, merged in a murmur not loud butcontinuous, and fraught with something of menace. Once, on the fringeof the gathering, there was an outburst of booing, but it ceased assuddenly as it had risen, suppressed by the more sober element; andonce a hand tried the doors, a voice surprisingly loud, cried,"They're fast enough!" and footsteps retreated across the pavement.The driver of a cart descending the hill called to "Make way! Makeway!" and that, too, reached those within almost as plainly as if ithad been said in the room. Something, too, happened on it, for a shoutof laughter followed.

  It wanted two--it wanted one minute of ten. Rodd gave the order toopen.

  The younger clerk stepped forward and drew the bolts. He turned thekey, and opened one leaf of the door. The other was thrust open fromwithout. The clerk slid under the counter to his place. They came in.

  They came in, three abreast, elbowing and pushing one another in theirefforts to be first. In a moment they were at the counter, dartingsuspicious glances at the clerks and angry looks at one another, andwith them entered an atmosphere of noise and contention, of tramplingfeet and peevish exclamations. The bank, so still a moment before, wasfilled with clamor. There were tradesmen among them, a littleuncertain of themselves and thankful that Ovington was not visible,and one or two bluff red-faced farmers who cared for nobody, andslapped their books down on the counter; and there were also a few, ofthe better sort, who looked straight before them and endeavored to seeas little as possible--with a sprinkling of small fry, clerks andlodging-house keepers and a coal-hawker, each with his dirty notegripped tight in his fist. The foremost rapped on the counter andcried "Here, Mister, I'm first!" "No, I!" "Here, you, please attend tome!" They pressed their claims rudely, while those in the rear utteredimpatient remonstrances, holding their books or their notes over theheads of others in the attempt to gain attention. In a moment the bankwas full--ful
l to the doors, full of people, full of noise.

  Rodd's cold eye travelled over them, measured them, weighed them. Hewas filled with an immense contempt for them, for their folly, theirgreed, their selfishness. He raised his hand for silence. "This is nota cock-fight," he said in a tone as withering as his eye. "This is abank. When you gentlemen have settled who comes first. I will attendto you." And then, as the noise only broke out afresh and more loudly,"Well, suppose I begin at the left hand," he said. He passed to thatend of the counter. "Now, Mr. Buffery, what can I do for you. Got yourbook?"

  But Mr. Buffery had not got his book, as Rodd had noticed. On that thecashier slowly drew from a shelf below the counter a large ledger,and, turning the leaves, began a methodical search for the account.

  But this was too much for the patience of the man last on the right,who saw six before him, and had left no one to take care of his shop."But, see here," he cried imperiously. "Mr. Rodd, I'm in a hurry! Ifthat young man at the desk could attend to me I shouldn't take long."

  Rodd, keeping his place in the book with his finger, looked at him."Do you want to pay in, Mr. Bevan?" he asked gravely.

  "No. I want forty-two, seven, ten. Here's my cheque."

  "You want cash?"

  "That's it."

  "Well, I'm the cashier in this bank. No one else pays cash. That's therule of the bank. Now, Mr. Buffery," leisurely turning back to thepage in the ledger, and running his finger down it. "Thirty-five, two,six. That's right, is it?"

  "That's right, sir." Buffery knuckled his forehead gratefully.

  "You've brought a cheque?"

  But Buffery had not brought a cheque. Rodd shrugged his shoulders,called the senior clerk forward, and entrusted the customer, who wasno great scholar, to his care. Then he closed the ledger, returned itcarefully to the shelf, and turned methodically to the next in theline. "Now, Mr. Medlicott, what do you want? Are you paying, ordrawing?"

  Mr. Medlicott grinned, and sheepishly handed in a cheque. "I'll drawthat," he mumbled, perspiring freely, while from the crowd behind him,shuffling their feet and breathing loudly, there rose a laugh. Roddbrought out the ledger again, and verified the amount. "Right," hesaid presently, and paid over the sum in Dean's notes and gold.

  The man fingered the notes and hesitated. Rodd, about to pass to thenext customer, paused. "Well, ain't they right?" he said. "Dean'snotes. Anything the matter with them?"

  The man took them without more, and Rodd paid the next and the next inthe same currency, knowing that it would be remarked. "I'll give thema jog while I can," he thought. "They deserve it." And, sure enough,every note of that bank that he paid out was presented across thecounter at Dean's within the hour. It gave Mr. Dean something to thinkabout.

  No one, in truth, could have done the work better than Rodd. He was socool, so precise, so certain of himself. Nothing put him out. Heplodded through his usual routine at his usual leisurely pace. Herecked nothing of the impatient shuffling crowd on the other side ofthe counter, nothing of the greedy eyes that grudged every motion ofhis hand. They might not have existed for him. He looked through them.A plodder, he had no nerves. He was the right man in the right place.

  At noon, taking with him a slip of paper, he went to report toOvington, who had retired to the parlor. They had paid out seventeenhundred pounds in the two hours. At this rate they could go on for along time. There was only one large account in the room--should hecall it up and pay it? It might have a good effect.

  Ovington agreed, and Rodd returned to the counter. His eye sought outMr. Meredith. "I don't know what you're doing here," he saidausterely. "But I suppose your time is worth something. If you'll passup your cheque I'll let you go."

  The small fry clamored, but Rodd looked through them. "Eight hundredand ten," said Meredith with a sigh of relief, passing his cheque overthe heads of those before him. He was not ashamed of his balance, butfor the moment he was ashamed of himself. He began to suspect that hehad let himself be carried away with a lot of silly small chaps--yethis fingers itched to hold the money.

  Rodd confirmed the account, fluttered a packet of notes, counted themthrice and slowly, and tossed them to Mr. Meredith. "I make themright," he said, "but you'd better count them." Then, to one or twowho were muttering something about illegal preference, "Bless yourinnocent hearts," he said, "you'll all be paid!" And he took the nextin order as if nothing had happened.

  It had its effect, and so had a thing that half an hour later brokethe dreary monotony of paying out. A man at the back who had justpressed in--for the crowd, reinforced by new arrivals, was very nearlyas large as at the hour of opening--raised his voice, complainingbitterly that he could not stay there all day, and that he wanted topay in some money and go about his business.

  There was a stir of surprise. A dozen turned to look at him.

  "Good lord!" someone exclaimed.

  Only Rodd was unmoved. "Get a pay slip," he said to the senior clerk,who had been pretty well employed filling in cheques for theilliterate and examining notes. "Now, gentlemen, fair play. Let hispass through. Oh, it's Mr. Walker, is it? How much, Mr. Walker?"

  "Two seven six, ten," said Mr. Walker, laying a heavy canvas bag onthe counter. Rodd untied the neck of the bag and upset the contents,notes and gold, before him. He counted the money with professionaldeftness, whilst the clerk filled in the slip. "How's your brother?"he asked.

  "Pretty tidy."

  "And how are things in Wolverhampton?"

  "So, so! But not so bad as they were."

  "Thank you. You're the only sensible man I've seen to-day, and weshall not forget it. Now, gentlemen, next please."

  Mr. Walker was closely inspected as he pushed his way out, and one ortwo were tempted to say a word of warning to him, but thought betterof it, and held their peace. About two in the afternoon a Mr. Hope ofBretton again broke the chain of withdrawals. He paid in two hundred.Him a man did pluck by the sleeve, muttering "Have a care, man! Have acare what you're doing!" But Mr. Hope, a bluff tradesman-lookingperson only answered, "Thank ye, but I am up to snuff. If you ask me Ithink you're a silly set of fools."

  News of him and of what he had said, and indeed of much more than hehad said, ran quickly through the crowd that wondered and waited allday before the bank; that snapped up every rumor, and devoured thewildest inventions. The bank would close at one! It would close atthree--the speaker had it on the best authority! It would close whenso and so had been paid! Ovington, the rascal, had fled. He was inthe bank, white as a sheet. He had attempted suicide. There was awarrant out for him. The crowd moved hither and thither, like thecolors in a kaleidoscope. On its outer edges there was horseplay.Children chased one another up and down the Butter Cross steps, fellover the old women who knitted, were cuffed by the men, driven out bythe Beadle--only to return again.

  But under the trivialities there was tense excitement. Now and again aman who had been slow to take the alarm forced his way, pale andagitated, through the crowd, to vanish within the doors; or acountryman, whom the news had only just reached in his boosey-close orhis rickyard--as they call a stackyard in Aldshire--rode up the hill,hot with haste and cursing those who blocked his road, flung his reinsto the nearest bystander, and plunged into the bank as into water. Andon the fringe, hiding themselves in doorways, or in the dark mouths ofalleys, were men who stood biting their nails, heedless or unconsciousof what passed about them; or who came staggering up from the Gulletwith stammering tongues and eyes bloodshot with drink--men who a yearbefore had been well-to-do, sober citizens, fathers of families. Allone to them now whether Ovington's stood or fell! They had lost theirall, and to show for it and for all that they had ever been worth hadbut a few pieces of printed paper, certificates, or what not, whichthey took out and read in corners, as if something of hope mightstill, at the thousandth time of reading be derived from them, orwhich they brandished aloft in the tavern with boasts of what theywould have gained if trickery had not robbed them. So, though thecrowd had its humors and was swept a
t times by gusts of laughter, thespectre of ruin stood, gaunt and bleak, in the background, and many aheart quailed before grim visions of bailiffs and forced sales and theworkhouse--the workhouse, that in Aldersbury, where they were nothingif not genteel, they called the House of Industry.

  And Ovington, as he sat over his books, or peered from time to timefrom a window, knew this, and felt it. He would not have been human ifhe had not thought with longing of that twelve thousand, the useof which had so nearly been his; ay, and with passing regret--forafter all was not the greatest good for the greatest number soundmorality?--of the self-denying ordinance which had robbed him of it.But harassed and heavy-hearted as he was, he remained master ofhimself, and his bearing was calm and dignified, when at a quarter tofour, he showed himself, for the first time that day, in the bank.

  It was still half-full, and the approach of closing time and thecertainty that they could not all be paid that day, along with thefear that the doors would not open on the morrow, mightily inflamedthose who were not in the front rank. They clamored to be paid,brandishing their books or their notes. Some tried prayers, addressingRodd by name, pleading their poverty or their services. Othersreproached him for his slowness, and swore that it was purposeful. Andthey would not be still, they pushed and elbowed one another, rose ontiptoe and shuffled their feet, quarrelled among themselves.

  Their voices filled the bank, passed beyond it, were heard in thestreet. Rodd worked on bravely, but the perspiration stood on hisbrow, while the clerks, flurried and nervous, looked now at the clockand now at the malcontents whose violence and restlessness seemed totreble their numbers.

  Then it was that Ovington came in, and on the instant the noise dieddown, and there was silence. He advanced without speaking to within afew feet of the counter. He was cold, composed, upright, dignified.And still he did not speak. He surveyed his customers, his spectaclesin his hand. His eyes took in each. At length, "Gentlemen," he saidquietly, "there is no need for this excitement. You will all be paid.We are shorthanded to-day, but I had no reason to suppose that thosewho know me as well as most of you do know me--and there are some herewho have known me all my life--would distrust me. However, as we areshorthanded, the bank will remain open to-day until half-past four.Mr. Rodd, you will see, if you please, that the requirements of thosenow in the room are met. I need not add that the bank will open at theusual time to-morrow. Good-day, gentlemen."

  They raised a feeble cheer in their relief, and in the act of turningaway, he paused. "Mr. Ricketts," he said, singling out one, "you arehere about those bills? They are important. If you will bring themthrough to me--yes, if you please?"

  The man whom he had addressed, a banker's clerk, followed himthankfully into the parlor. His uneasiness had been great, for, thoughhe had not joined in his neighbors' threats, his employers' claimexceeded those of all the rest put together.

  "We daren't wait, Mr. Ovington," he said apologetically. "Our peoplewant it. I take it, it is all right, sir?"

  "Quite," Ovington said. "You have them here? What is the total?"

  "Eighteen hundred and twenty-eight, six, eight, sir."

  Ovington examined the bills with a steady hand and wrote the amount ona slip of paper. He rang the bell, and the younger clerk came in."Bring me that," he said "as quickly as you can." Then to his visitor,"My compliments to Mr. Allwood. Will you tell him that his assistancehas been of material use to me, and that I shall not forget it? I wassorry to hear of Gibbons' failure."

  "Yes, sir. Very unfortunate. Very unfortunate, indeed?"

  "He is no loser by them, I hope?"

  "Well, he is, sir, I am sorry to say."

  "Ah, I am sorry." And when the lad had brought in the money, and theaccount was settled, "Are you returning to-night?"

  "No, sir. My instructions were to travel by daylight."

  "Then you have an opportunity of stating outside, that you have beenpaid? I am anxious, of course, to stop this foolish run."

  The man said he would not fail to do so, and Ovington thanked him andsaw him out by the private door. Then, taking with him certain booksand the slips of paper that Rodd had sent in to him at hourlyintervals, he went into the dining-room. Things were no worse than hehad expected, but they were no better. Or, yes, they were, a fewhundreds better.

  Betty was there, awaiting him with an anxious face. She had had noslips to inform her from hour to hour how things went, and she hadbeen too wise to intrude on her father. But many times she hadlooked from the windows on the scene before the bank, on the shiftingcrowd, the hasty arrivals, the groups that clung unwearied to thesteps of the Butter Cross; and though poverty--she was young--had fewterrors for her, she comprehended only too well what her father wassuffering--ay, and, though it was a minor evil, what a blister to hispride was this gathering of his neighbors to witness his fall!

  So, though she could have put on an appearance of cheerfulness, shefelt that it would not accord with his mood, and instead, "Well,father," she said, with loving anxiety, "is it bad or good?" And, ashe sank wearily into his chair, she passed her arm about hisshoulders.

  "Well," he replied, with the sigh of a tired man, "it is pretty muchas we expected. I don't know, child, that it is better or worse. ButRodd will be here presently and he will tell us. He must be worn out,poor chap. He has borne the brunt of the day, and he has borne itfamously. Famously! I offered to take his place at the dinner-hour buthe would not have it. He has not left the counter for five minutes ata time, and he has shown splendid nerve."

  "Then you have not missed the others much?"

  "No. We did not wish to pay out too quickly. Well--let us have sometea. Rodd will be glad of it. He has not tasted food since teno'clock."

  "Did you go in, father?"

  "For a minute," smiling, "to scold them."

  "Oh, they are horrid!"

  "No, they are just frightened. Frightened, child! We should do thesame in their place."

  "No," Betty said stoutly. "I shouldn't! And I could never like anyonewho did! Never!"

  "Did what?"

  "Took money from you when you wanted it so much! I think they're mean!Mean! And I shall never think anything else!" Betty's eyes sparkled,she was red with indignation. But the heat passed, and now she waspaler than usual, she looked sad. Perhaps she had forgotten how thingswere, and now remembered; or perhaps--at any rate the glow faded andshe was again the Betty of late days--a tired and depressed Betty.

  She had seen to it that the fire was clear and the lamps burnedbrightly; had she not visited the room a dozen times to see to it?And now the curtains had been drawn, the tea-tray had come in, thekettle sang on the hob, the silver and china, reflecting the lights,twinkled a pleasant welcome to the tired man. Or they would have, ifhe could have believed that the comfort about him was permanent. Buthow long--the doubt tortured him--would it be his? How long could heensure it for others? The waiting, anxious crowd, the scared faces,the clamorous customers, these were the things he saw, the things thatblotted out the room and darkened the future. These were the onlyrealities, the abiding, the menacing facts of life. He let his chinfall on his hand, and gazed moodily into the fire. A Napoleonof-finance? Ay, but a Napoleon, crushed in the making, whose Waterloohad met him at Arcola!

  He straightened himself when Rodd's step was heard in the passage, andhe rose to take the last slip from the cashier's hand.

  "Sit down, man, sit down," he said. "Betty, give Rodd a cup of tea. Hemust need it. Well?" putting on his glasses to consult the slip.

  "We've paid out thirteen thousand two hundred and ten, sir."

  "Through one pair of hands! Well done! A fine feat, Rodd, and I shallnot forget it. Umph!" thoughtfully, "that is just about what weexpected. Neither much better nor much worse. What we did notexpect--but sit down and drink your tea, man. Betty!"

  "Yes, father."

  "Pass the toast to him. He deserves all we can do for him. What we didnot expect," reverting to the slip with a wrinkled brow, "were thepayments in. Four hun
dred and seventy odd! I don't understand that. Noother sign of returning credit, Rodd? Was it some one we've obliged?Very unlikely, for long memories are rare at such times as these. Whowas it?"

  Rodd was busy with his toast. Betty had passed it to him with a politesmile. "There were two, sir, I think," he said. He spoke as if he werenot quite certain.

  The banker looked up in surprise. "Think!" he said. "Why, you mustknow."

  "Well, there were two, sir, I am sure. But paying out all day----"

  "You'd remember who paid in, I should think. When there were but two.You must remember who they were."

  "One was from Wolverhampton, I know," Rodd replied, "Mr. Watkins--orWalker."

  "Walker or Watkins? Of Wolverhampton? I don't remember any customer ofthat name. And the other? Who was he?"

  "From somewhere Bretton way. I could look him up."

  The banker eyed Rodd closely. Had the day's work been too much forhim? "You could look him up?" he rejoined. "Why, man, of course youcould. Four hundred and seventy! A bank has failed before now for lackof less. All good notes, I suppose? No Gibbons' or Garrards', eh?" anidea striking him. "But you'd see to that. If some one had the idea ofwashing his hands that way--and the two banks already closed!"

  But Rodd shook his head. "No, sir. It was in gold and Bank of Englandnotes. I saw to that."

  "Then I don't understand it," the banker decided. He satpondering--the thing had taken hold of his mind. Was it a trick?Did they mean to draw out the amount next morning? But, no they wouldnot risk the money, and he would stand no worse if they drew it. Anenemy could not have done it, then. A friend? But such friends wererare and the sum was no trifle. The amount was more than he hadreceived for his plate, the proceeds of which had already gone intothe cash-drawer. He pondered.

  Meanwhile, "Another cup of tea?" Betty said politely. And as Rodd,avoiding her eyes, handed her his cup, "It's so nice to hear ofstrangers helping us," she continued with treacherous sweetness. "Onefeels so grateful to them."

  Rodd muttered something, his mouth full of toast.

  "It's so fine of them to trust us, when they don't know how thingsare--as we do, of course. I think it is splendid of them," Bettycontinued. "Father, you must bring them to me, some day, when allthese troubles are over--that I may thank them."

  But her father had risen to his feet. He was standing on thehearthrug, a queer look on his face. "I think that they are here now,"he said. "Rodd, why did you do it?"

  The cashier started. "I, sir? I don't think I----"

  "Oh, you understand, man!" The banker was much moved. "You understandvery well. Walker of Wolverhampton? You've a brother at Wolverhampton,I remember, though I don't think I've ever seen him. This is yourthree hundred, and all you could add to it. My G--d, man----" Ovingtonwas certainly moved, for he seldom swore, "but if we go you'll loseit! You must draw it out before the bank opens to-morrow."

  "No," said Rodd, who had turned red. "I shall do nothing of the sort,sir. It's as safe there as anywhere. I'm not afraid."

  "But I don't understand," Betty said, looking from one to the other.It couldn't be true. It could not be that she had made such a--adreadful mistake!

  "There's no Mr. Walker," her father explained, "and no gentleman fromBretton. They are both Rodd. It's his money."

  "Do you mean----" in a very small voice. "I thought that Mr. Rodd tookhis money out!"

  "Only to put it in again when he thought that it might help us more.But we can't have it. He mustn't lose his money, all I expect thathe----"

  "It came out of the bank," Rodd said, "And there's where it belongs,and I'm not going," stubbornly, "to take it out. I've been here tenyears--very comfortable, sir. And if the bank closed where'd I be?It's my interest that it shouldn't close."

  The banker turned to the fire and put one foot on the fender as if towarm it. "Well, let it stay," he said, but his voice was unsteady. "Ifwe have to close you'll have done a silly thing--that's all. But if wedon't, you'll not have been such a fool!"

  "Oh, we shall not close," Rodd boasted, and he gulped down his tea,his ears red.

  There was an embarrassing silence. Ovington turned. "Well, Betty," hesaid, attempting a lighter tone. "I thought that you were going tothank--Mr. Walker of Wolverhampton?"

  But Betty, murmuring something about an order for the servants, hadalready hurried from the room.