Ovington's Bank Page 22

  CHAPTER XXII

  Arthur, on the other hand, felt that things were going well with him.A few months earlier he had decided that a partnership in Ovington'swould be cheaply bought at the cost of a rupture with his uncle. Nowhe had the partnership, he could look forward to the wealth andimportance which it would bring--and he had not to pay the price. Onthe contrary, his views now took in all that he had been prepared toresign, as well as all that he had hoped to gain. They took in Garth,and he saw himself figuring not only as the financier whose operationscovered many fields, and whose riches were ever increasing, but as thelanded Squire, the man of family, whose birth and acres must give hima position in society which no mere wealth could confer. The unluckynight which had cost the old man so much, had been for Arthur thebirth-night of fortune. He could date from it a favor, proof, as henow believed, against chance and change, a favor upon which it seemedunlikely that he could ever overdraw.

  For since his easy victory on the question of the India Stock, he hadbecome convinced that the Squire was failing. The old man, once soformidable, was changed; he had grown, if not weak, yet dependent. Andit could hardly be otherwise, Arthur reflected. The loss of sight wasa paralyzing deprivation, and it had fallen on the owner of Garth at atime of life when any shock must sap the strength and lower thevitality. For a while his will had reacted, he had seemed to bear upagainst the blow, but age will be served, and of late he had grownmore silent and apathetic. Arthur had read the signs and drawn theconclusion, and was now sure that, blind and shaken, the old man wouldnever again be the man he had been, or assert himself against aninfluence which a subtler brain would know how to weave about him.

  Arthur was thinking of this as he rode into town one morning inNovember, his back turned to the hills and the romance of them, hisface to the plain. It was early in the month. St. Luke's summer,prolonged that year, had come to an end a day or two before, and theair was raw, the outlook sombre. Under a canopy of grey mist, thethinning hedge-rows and dripping woods showed dark against clear bluedistances. But in the warmth of his thoughts the rider was proofagainst weather, and when he came to the sedgy spot, never more drearyto the view than to-day, which Thomas had chosen for his attack on theSquire, he smiled. That little patch of ground had done much for him,but at a price, of course--for there he had lost a friend, a good easyfriend in Clement. And Betty--Betty, whose coolness had caused himmore than one honest pang--he had no doubt that there had come achange in her, too, from that date.

  But one had to pay a price for everything, and these were but smallspots on the sun of his success. Soon he had put the thought of themfrom him, and, abreast of the first houses of the town, began toemploy his mind on the work of the day--revolving this and that,matters outside routine which would demand his attention. He knew whatwas likely to arise.

  Rarely in these days did he enter Aldersbury without a feeling ofelation. The very air of the town inspired him. The life of thestreets, the movement of the markets, the sight of the shopkeepers attheir doors, the stir and bustle had their appeal for him. He felthimself on his own ground; it was here and not in the waste placesthat his work lay, here that he was formed to conquer, here that hewas conquering fortune. Garth was very well--a grand, a splendidreserve; but as he rode up the steep streets to the bank, he felt thathere was his vocation. He sniffed the battle, his eyes grew brighter,his figure more alert. From some Huguenot ancestor had descended theHuguenot appetite for business, the Huguenot ability to succeed.

  This morning, however, he did not reach the bank in his happiest mood.Purslow, the irrepressible Purslow, stopped him, with a long face anda plaint to match. "Those Antwerp shares, Mr. Bourdillon! Excuse me,have you heard? They're down again--down twenty-five since Wednesday!And that's on to five, as they fell the week before! Thirty down, sir!I'm in a regular stew about it! Excuse me, sir, but if they fall muchmore----"

  "You've held too long, Purslow," Arthur replied. "I told you it was aquick shot. A fortnight ago you'd have got out with a good profit. Whydidn't you?"

  "But they were rising--rising nicely. And I thought, sir----"

  "You thought you'd hold them for a bit more? That was the long andshort of it, wasn't it? Well, my advice to you now is to get out whileyou can make a profit."

  "Sell?" the draper exclaimed. "Now?" It is hard to say what he hadexpected, but something more than this. "But I should not clear morethan--why, I shouldn't make----"

  "Better make what you can," Arthur replied, and rode on a little morecavalierly than he would have ridden a few months before.

  He did not reflect how easy it is to sow the seeds of distrust.Purslow, left alone to make the best of cold comfort, felt for thefirst time that his interests were not the one care of the bank. Forthe first time he saw the bank as something apart, a machine, cold,impassive, indifferent, proceeding on its course unmoved by hisfortunes, good or bad, his losses or his gains. It was a picture thatchilled him, and set him thinking.

  Arthur, meantime, left his horse at the stables and let himself intothe bank by the house-door. As he laid his hat and whip on the tablein the hall, he caught the sound of an angry voice. It came from thebank parlor. He hesitated an instant, then he made up his mind, andstepping that way he opened the door.

  The voice was Wolley's. The man was on his feet, angry, protesting,gesticulating. Ovington, his lips set, the pallor of his handsome facefaintly tinged with color, sat behind his table, his elbows on thearms of his chair, his fingertips meeting.

  Arthur took it all in. Then, "You don't want me?" he said, and he madeas if he would close the door again. "I thought that you were alone,sir."

  "No, stay," Ovington answered. "You may as well hear what Mr. Wolleyhas to say, though I have told him already----"

  "What?" the clothier cried rudely. "Come! Let's have it in plainwords!"

  "That we can discount no more bills for him until the account againsthim is reduced. You know as well as I do, Mr. Wolley, that you havebeen drawing more bills and larger bills than your trade justifies."

  "But I have to meet the paper I've accepted for wool, haven't I? Andif my customers don't pay cash--as you know it is not the custom topay--where am I to get the cash to pay the wool men?"

  The banker took up one of two bills that lay on the table before him."Drawn on Samuel Willias, Manchester," he said. "That's a new name.Who is he?"

  "A customer. Who should he be?"

  "That's the point," Ovington replied coldly. "Is he? And this otherbill. A new name, too. Besides, we've already discounted your usualbills. These bills are additional. My own opinion is that they areaccommodation bills, and that you, and not the acceptors, will have tomeet them. In any case," dropping the slips on the table, "we are notgoing to take them."

  "You won't cash them? Not on no terms?"

  "No, we are going no further, Wolley," the banker replied firmly. "Ifyou like I will send for the bill-book and ledger and tell you exactlywhat you owe, on bills and overdraft. I know it is a large amount, andyou have made, as far as I can judge, no effort to reduce it. The timehas come when we must stop the advances."

  "And you'll not discount these bills?"

  "No!"

  "Then, by G--d, it's not I will be the only one to be ruined!" the manexclaimed, and he struck the table with his fist. The veins on hisforehead swelled, his coarse mottled face became disfigured with rage.He glared at the banker. But even as Ovington met his gaze, there camea change. The perspiration sprang out on his forehead, his face turnedpale and flabby, he seemed to shrink and wilt. The ruin, whichrecklessness and improvidence had hidden from him, rose before him,certain and imminent. He saw his mill, his house, his all gone fromhim, saw himself a drunken, ruined, shiftless loafer, cadging aboutpublic-houses! "For God's sake!" he pleaded, "do it this once, Mr.Ovington. Meet just these two, and I'll swear they'll be the last.Meet these."

  "No," the banker said. "We go no farther."

  Perhaps the thought that he and Ovington had risen
from the rankstogether, that for years they had been equals, and that now the onerefused his help to the other, rose and mocked the unhappy man. At anyrate, his rage flared up anew. He swore violently. "Well, there's morethan I will go down, then!" he said. "And more than will suit yourbook, banker! Wise as you think yourself, there's more bills out thanyou know of!"

  "I am sorry to hear it."

  "Ay, and you'll be more sorry by and by!" viciously. "Sorry foryourself and sorry that you did not give me a little more help, d--nyou! Are you going to? Best think twice about it before you say no!"

  "Not a penny," Ovington rejoined sternly. "After what you haveadmitted I should be foolish indeed to do so. You've had my last word,Mr. Wolley."

  "Then damn your last word and you too!" the clothier retorted, andwent out, cursing, into the bank, shouting aloud as he passed throughit, that they were a set of bloodsuckers and that he'd have the law ofthem! Clement from his desk eyed him steadily. Rodd and the clerkslooked startled. The customers--there were but two, but they were twotoo many for such a scene--eyed each other uneasily. A moment, andClement, after shifting his papers uncertainly, left his desk and wentinto the parlor.

  Ovington and Arthur had not moved. "What's the matter?" Clement asked.The occurrence had roused him from his apathy. He looked from the oneto the other, a challenge in his eyes.

  "Only what we've been expecting for some time," his father answered."Wolley has asked for further credit and I've had to say, no. I'vegiven him too much rope as it is, and we shall lose by him. He's anill-conditioned fellow, and he is taking it ill."

  "He wants a drubbing," said Clement.

  "That is not in our line," Ovington replied mildly. "But," hecontinued--for he was not sorry to have the chance of taking his soninto his confidence--"we are going to have plenty to think of that isin our line. Wolley will fail, and we shall lose by him; and I have nodoubt that he is right in saying that he will bring down others. Wemust look to ourselves and draw in, as I warned Bourdillon some timeago. That noisy fellow may do us harm, and we must be ready to meetit."

  Arthur looked thoughtful. "Antwerps have fallen," he said.

  "I wish it were only Antwerps!" the banker answered. "You haven't seenthe mail? Or Friday's prices? There's a fall in nearly everything.True," looking from one to the other, "I've expected it--sooner orlater; and it has come, or is coming. Yes, Rodd? What is it?"

  The cashier had opened the door. "Hamar," he said in a low voice,"wants to know if we will buy him fifty of the railroad shares andadvance him the face value on the security of the shares. He'll findthe premium himself. He thinks they are cheap after the drop lastweek."

  The banker shook his head. "No," he said. "We can't do it, tell Mr.Hamar."

  "It would support the shares," Arthur suggested.

  "With our money. Yes! But we've enough locked up in them already. Tellhim, Rodd, that I am sorry, but it is not convenient at present."

  "They are still at a premium of thirty shillings," Arthur put in.

  "Is the door shut, Rodd?"

  "Yes, sir."

  "Thirty shillings? And that might run off in a week, Mr. Secretary.No, the time is come when we must not shilly-shally. I see your viewand the refusal may do harm. But we have enough money locked up in therailway, and with the outlook such as it is, I will not increase thenote issues. They are already too large, as we may discover. We mustsay no, Rodd, but tell him to come and see me this evening, and I willexplain."

  The cashier nodded and went out.

  Ovington gazed thoughtfully at his joined finger-tips. "Is the doorclosed?" he asked again, and assured that it was, he lookedthoughtfully from one to the other of the young men. He seemed to bemeasuring them, considering how far he could trust them, how far itwould be well to take them into his confidence. Then, "We are going tomeet a crisis," he said. "I have now no doubt about that. All over thecountry the banks have increased their issues, and hold a vastquantity of pawned stock. If the fall in values is continued, thebanks must throw the stock on the market, and there will be a generalfall. At the same time they will be obliged to restrict credit andrefuse discounts, which will force traders to throw goods on themarket to meet their obligations. Goods as well as stocks will fall.Alarm will follow, and presently there will be a run on a weak bankand it will close its doors. Then there will be a panic, and a run onother banks--a run proportioned in violence to the amount of creditgranted in the last two years. We may have to meet a run on depositsat the same time that we may be called upon to cash every note that wehave issued."

  "Impossible!" Arthur cried. "We could not do it."

  "If you mean that the run is impossible," the banker answered quietly,"I much fear that events will confute you. If you mean that we couldnot meet our obligations, well, we must strain every nerve to do so.We must retain all the cash that comes in, and we must issue no morenotes, create no more credit. But even this we must do withdiscretion, and above all not a whisper must pass beyond this room. Iwill speak to Rodd. Hamar I will see this evening, and do what I canto sweeten the refusal. We must wear confident faces however grave thecrisis. We are solvent, amply solvent, if time be given us to realizeour resources; but time may not be given us, and we may have to makegreat sacrifices. You may be inclined to blame me----" he paused, andlooked from one to the other--Arthur stood frowning, his eyes on thecarpet--"that I did not take the alarm earlier? Well, I ought to havedone so, perhaps. But----"

  "Nobody blames you, sir!" It was Clement who spoke, Clement, in whomthe last few minutes had made a marked change. His dulness andlistlessness had fallen from him, he stood upright and alert. Theimagination which had balked at the routine of banking, faced a crisiswith alacrity, and conscious that he had hitherto failed his father,he welcomed with zest the opportunity of proving his loyalty, "Nobodyblames you, sir!" he repeated firmly. "We are here to stand by you,and I am confident that we shall win through. If any bank can stand,Ovington's will stand. And if we don't win through, if the publicinsists on cutting its own throat, well"--a little ashamed of his ownenthusiasm--"we shall still believe in you, sir, you may be sure ofthat!"

  "But isn't--isn't all this a little premature?" Arthur asked, his tonecold and business-like. "I don't understand why you think that allthis is coming upon us at a moment's notice, sir? Without warning?"

  "Not quite without warning," the banker rejoined with patience.Clement's declaration of faith had moved him more deeply than heshowed, and, having that, he could bear a little disappointment. "Ihave hinted more than once, Arthur, that I was uneasy. But why, youask, this sudden alarm--now? Well, look at Richardson's list of lastFriday's prices. You have not seen it. Exchequer Bills that a week agowere at par are at a discount. India Stock are down five points on theday--a large fall for such a stock. New Four per Cents, have fallen 3,Bank Stock that stood at 224 ten days ago is 214. These are not panicfalls, but they are serious figures. With Bank Stock falling tenpoints in as many days, what will happen to the immense mass ofspeculative securities held by the public, and on much of which callsare due? It will be down this week; next week the banks will have tothrow it out to save their margins, and customers to pay their calls.It will fall, and fall. The week after, perhaps, panic! A rush to drawdeposits, or a rush to cash notes, or, probably, both."

  "Then you think--you must think"--Arthur's voice was not quite underhis control--"that there is danger?"

  "It would be as foolish in me to deny it here," the banker repliedgravely, "as it would be reckless in me to affirm it outside. There isdanger. We shall run a risk, but I believe that we shall win through,though, it may be, by a narrow margin. And a little thing might upsetus."

  Arthur was not of an anxious temperament--far from it. But he hadcommitted himself to the bank. He had involved himself in its fortunesin no ordinary way. He had joined it against the wishes of his friendsand in the teeth of the prejudices of his caste. He had staked hisreputation for judgment upon its success, and assured that it wouldgive him in the future all for whi
ch he thirsted, he had deemedhimself far-sighted, and others fools. In doing this he had neverdreamt of failure, he had never weighed the possibility of loss. Notonce had he reflected that he might turn out to be wrong and robbed ofthe prize--might in the end be a laughing-stock!

  Now as the possibility of all this, as the thought of failure,complete and final, flooded his mind and shook his self-confidence,he flinched. Danger! Danger, owned to by Ovington himself! Ah, heought to have known! He ought to have suspected that fortunes were notso easily made! He ought to have reflected that Ovington's was notDean's! That it was but a young bank, ill-rooted as yet--andspeculative! Ay, speculative! Such a bank might fall, he was almostcertain now that it would fall, as easily as it had risen!

  It was a nerve-shaking vision that rose before him, and for a momenthe could not hide his disorder. At any rate, he could not hide it fromtwo jealous eyes. Clement saw and condemned--not fully understandingall that this meant to the other or the sudden strain which it putupon him. A moment and Arthur was himself again, and his first wordsrecovered for him the elder man's confidence. They were practical.

  "How much--I mean, what extra amount of reserve," he asked, "wouldmake us safe?"

  "Just so," and in the banker's eyes there shone a gleam of relief."Well, if we had twelve thousand pounds, in addition to our existingassets, I think--nay, I am confident that that would place us out ofdanger."

  "Twelve thousand pounds."

  "Yes. It is not a large sum. But it might make all the difference ifit came to a pinch."

  "In cash?"

  "In gold, or Bank paper. Or in such securities as could be realizedeven in a crisis. Twelve thousand added to our reserve--I think I maysay with confidence that with that we could meet any run that could bemade upon us."

  "There is no doubt that we are solvent, sir?"

  "You should know that as well as I do."

  "We could realize the twelve thousand eventually?"

  "Of course, or we should not be solvent without it." For once Ovingtonspoke a little impatiently.

  "Then could we not," Arthur asked, "by laying our accounts before ourLondon agents obtain the necessary help, sir?"

  "If we were the only bank likely to be in peril, of course we could.And even as it is, you are so far right that I had already determinedto do that. It is the obvious course, and my bag is being packed inthe house--I shall go to town by the afternoon coach. And now," risingto his feet, "we have been together long enough--we must be careful tocause no suspicion. Do you, Clement, see Massy, the wine-merchantto-day, and tell him that I will take, to lay down, the ten dozen of'20 port that he offered me. And ask the two Welshes to dine with meon Friday--I shall return on Thursday. And get some oysters fromHamar's--two barrels--and have one or two people to dine while I amaway. And, cheerful faces, boys--and still tongues. And now go. I mustput into shape the accounts that I shall need in town."

  He dismissed them with calmness, but he did not at once fall to workupon the papers. His serenity was that of the commander who, on theeve of battle, reviews the issues of the morrow, and habituated to thechances of war, knows that he may be defeated, but makes hisdispositions, folds his cloak about him, and lies down to sleep. Butunder the cloak of the commander, and behind the mask that deceivesthose about him, is still the man, with the man's hopes and fears, andcares and anxieties, which habit has rendered tolerable, and prideenables him to veil. But they are there. They are there.

  As he sat, he thought of his rise, of his success, of step won afterstep; of the praise of men and the jealousy of rivals which wealth hadwon for him; and of the new machine that he had built up--Ovington's.And he knew that if fate went against him, there might in a very shorttime be an end of all. Yesterday he and Wolley had been equals. Theyhad risen from obscurity together. To-day Wolley was a bankrupt.To-morrow--they might be again equal in their fall, and Ovington's athing to wonder at. Dean's would chuckle, and some would call him afool and some a rogue, and all an upstart--one who had not been ableto keep his head. He would be ruined, and they would find no name toobad for him.

  He thought of Betty. How would she bear it? He had made much of herand spoiled her, she had been the apple of his eye. She had known onlythe days of his prosperity. How would she bear it, how take it? Hesighed.

  He turned at last to the papers.