Ovington's Bank Page 24

  CHAPTER XXIV

  Arthur was at the bank by noon, and up to that time nothing hadoccurred to justify the banker's apprehensions or to alarm the mosttimid. Business seemed to be a little slack, the bank door had a rest,and there was less coming and going. But in the main things appearedto be moving as usual, and Arthur, standing at his desk in anatmosphere as far removed as possible from that of Garth, had time toreview the check that he had received at Josina's hands, and toconsider whether, with the Squire's help, it might not still berepaired.

  But an hour or two later a thing occurred which might have passedunnoticed at another time, but on that day had a meaning for three outof the five in the bank. The door opened a little more abruptly thanusual, a man pushed his way in. He was a publican in a fair way ofbusiness in the town, a smug ruddy-gilled man who, in his youngerdays, had been a pugilist at Birmingham and still ran a cock-pitbehind the Spotted Dog, between the Foregate and the river. He steppedto the counter, his small shrewd eyes roving slyly from one toanother.

  Arthur went forward to attend to him. "What is it, Mr. Brownjohn?" heasked. But already his suspicions were aroused.

  "Well, sir," the man answered bluntly, "what we most of us want, sir.The rhino!"

  "Then you've come to the right shop for that," Arthur rejoined,falling into his humor. "How much?"

  "How's my account, sir?"

  Arthur consulted the book which he took from a ledge below thecounter. In our time he would have scribbled the sum on a scrap ofpaper and passed the paper over in silence. But in those days manycustomers would have been none the wiser for that, for they could notread. So, "One, four, two, and three and six-pence," he said.

  "Well, I'll take it," the publican announced, gazing straight beforehim.

  Arthur understood, but not a muscle of his face betrayed hisknowledge. "Brewers' day?" he said lightly. "Mr. Rodd, draw a chequefor Mr. Brownjohn. One four two, three and six. Better leave fivepounds to keep the account open?"

  "Oh, well!" Mr. Brownjohn was a little taken aback. "Yes, sir, verywell."

  "One three seven, Rodd, three and six." And while the customer,laboriously and with a crimsoning face, scrawled his signature on thecheque, Arthur opened a drawer and counted out the amount inOvington's notes. "Twenty-seven fives, and two, three, six," hemuttered, pushing it over. "You'll find that right, I think."

  Brownjohn had had his lesson from Wolley, who put up at his house, buthe had not learnt it perfectly. He took the notes, and thumbed themover, wetting his thumb as he turned each, and he found the talecorrect. "Much obliged, gentlemen," he muttered, and with a perspiringbrow he effected his retreat. Already he doubted--so willingly had hismoney been paid--if he had been wise. He was glad that he had left thefive pounds.

  But the door had hardly closed on him before Arthur asked the cashierhow much gold he had in the cash drawer.

  "The usual, sir. One hundred and fifty and thirty-two, thirty-three,thirty-four--one hundred and eighty-four."

  "Fetch up two hundred more before Mr. Brownjohn comes back," Arthursaid. "Don't lose time."

  Rodd did not like Arthur, but he did silent homage to his sharpness.He hastened to the safe and was back in two minutes with twentyrouleaux of sovereigns. "Shall I break them, sir?" he asked.

  "Yes, I think so. Ah!" as the door swung open and one of the Welshbrothers entered. It was Mr. Frederick. Arthur nodded. "Good day,Welsh, I was thinking of you. I fancy Clement wants to see you."

  "Right--in one moment," the lawyer replied. "Just put that----"

  But Arthur saw that he had a cheque to pay in--he banked at Dean's buthad clients' accounts with them--and he broke in on his business."Clement," he said, "here's Welsh. Just give him your father'smessage."

  Clement came forward with his father's invitation--oysters and whistat five on Friday--and his opinion on a glass of '20 he was layingdown? He kept the lawyer in talk for a minute or two, and then, asArthur had shrewdly calculated, the door opened and Brownjohn slid in.The man's face was red, and he looked heartily ashamed of himself, buthe put down his notes on the counter. He was going to speak when, "Ina moment, Brownjohn," Arthur said. "What is it, Mr. Welsh?"

  "Just put this to the Hobdays' account," the lawyer answered recalledto his business. "Fifty-four pounds two shillings and five-pence. And,by the way, are you going to Garth on Saturday?"

  "On Saturday, or Sunday, yes. Can I do anything for you!"

  "Will you tell the Squire that that lease will be ready for signatureon Saturday week. If you don't mind I'll send it over by you. It willsave me a journey."

  "Good. I'll tell him. He has been fretting about it. Good-day! Now,Mr. Brownjohn?"

  "I'd like cash for these," the innkeeper mumbled, thrusting forwardthe notes, but looking thoroughly ill at ease.

  "Man alive, why didn't you say so?" Arthur answered, good-humoredly,"and save yourself the trouble of two journeys? Mr. Rodd, cash forthese, please. I've forgotten something I must tell Welsh!" Andflinging the cash drawer wide open, he raised the counter-flap andhurried after the lawyer.

  Rodd knew what was expected of him, and he took out several fistsfulof gold and rattled it down before him. Rapidly, as if he handled somany peas, he counted out and thrust aside Mr. Brownjohn's portion,swiftly reckoned it a second time, then swept the balance back intothe open drawer. "I think you'll find that right," he said. "Bettercount it. How's your little girl that was ailing, Mr. Brownjohn?"

  Brownjohn muttered something, his face lighting up. Then he countedhis gold and sneaked out, impressed, as Arthur had intended he shouldbe, with his own unimportance, and more inclined than before to thinkthat he had made a mistake in following Wolley's advice.

  But before the bank closed that day two other customers came in anddrew out the greater part of their balances. They were both menconnected in one way or another with the clothier, and the thingstopped there. The following day was uneventful, but the drawings hadbeen unusual, and the two young clerks might have exchanged notes uponthe subject if their elders had not appeared so entirely unconscious.As it was, it was impossible for them to think that anything out ofthe common had happened.

  Worse, and far more important, than this matter was the fact thatstocks and shares continued to fall all that week. Night after nightthe arrival of the famous "Wonder," the fast coach which did thejourney from London in fifteen hours, was awaited by men who thoughtnothing of the wintry weather if they might have the latest news.Afternoon after afternoon the journals brought by the mail were foughtfor and opened in the street by men whose faces grew longer as theweek ran on. Some strode up jauntily, and joined themselves to thegroup of loungers before the coach-office, while others sneaked upprivily, went no farther than the fringe of the crowd, and there,gravitating together by twos and threes, conferred in low voices overprices and changes. Some, until the coach arrived, lurked in aneighboring churchyard, raised above the street, and glancingsuspiciously at one another affected to be immersed in the study ofcrumbling gravestones; while a few made a pretence of being surprised,as they passed, by the arrival of the mail, or hiding themselves indoorways appeared only at the last moment, and when they believed thatthey might do so unobserved.

  One thing was noticeable of nearly all these; that they avoided oneanother's eyes, as if, declining to observe others, they becamethemselves unseen. Once possessed of the paper they behaved indifferent ways, according as they were of a sanguine or despondentnature. Some tore the sheet open at once, devoured a particular columnand stamped or swore, or sometimes flung the paper underfoot. Otherssneaked off to the churchyard or to some neighboring nook, and there,unable to wait longer, opened the journal with shaking fingers; whilea few--and these perhaps had the most at stake--dared not trustthemselves to learn the news where they might by any chance beoverlooked, but hurried homewards through "shuts" and by-lanes, andlocked themselves in their offices, afraid to let even their wivescome near them.

  For the news was very serious to very m
any; the more so as,inexperienced in speculation, they clung for the most part to the hopeof a recovery, and could not bring themselves to sell at a lowerfigure than that which they might have got a week before. Much lesscould they bring themselves to sell at an actual loss. They had satdown to play a winning game, and they could not now believe that theseats were reversed, and that they were liable to lose all that theyhad gained, nay, in many cases much more than their stake. Amazed,they saw stocks falling, crumbling, nay, sinking to a nominal value,while large calls on them remained to be paid, and loans on them to berepaid. No wonder that they stared aghast, or that many after a periodof stupefaction, at a state of things so new and so paralyzing, beganto feel that it was neck or nothing with them, and bought when theyshould have sold, seeing that in any case the price to which stock wasfalling meant their ruin.

  For a time indeed there was no public outcry and no great excitementon the surface. For a time men kept their troubles to themselves,jealous lest they should get abroad, and few suspected how common wastheir plight or how many shared it. Men talk of their gains but not oftheir losses, and the last thing desired by a business man on thebrink of ruin is that his position should be made public. But thosebehind the scenes feared only the more for the morrow; for with thisferment of fear and suspense working beneath the surface it wasimpossible to say at what moment an eruption might not take place orwhere the ruin would stop. One thing was certain, that it would not beconfined to the speculators, for many a sober trader, who had neverbought shares in his life, would fail, beggared by the bankruptcy ofhis debtors.

  Ovington returned on the Friday, and Arthur met him at the Lion, as hehad met him eleven months before. They played their parts well--sowell that even Arthur did not learn the news until the door of thebank had closed behind them and they were closeted with Clement in thedining-room. Then they learned that the news was bad--as bad as itcould be.

  The banker retained his composure and told his story with calmness,but he looked very weary. Williams'--Williams and Co. were Ovington'scorrespondents in London--would do nothing, he told them. "They wouldnot re-discount a single bill nor hear of an acceptance. My ownopinion is that they cannot."

  Arthur looked much disturbed. "As bad as that," he said, "is it?"

  "Yes, and I believe, nay, I am sure, lad, that they fear forthemselves. I saw the younger Williams. He gave me good words, butthat was all; and he looked ill and harassed to the last degree. Therewas a frightened look about them all. I told them that if they wouldre-discount fifteen thousand pounds of sound short bills, we shouldneed no further help, and might by and by be able to help others.But he would do nothing. I said I should go to the Bank. He letout--though he was very close--that others had done so, and that theBank would do nothing. He hinted that they were short of gold there,and saw nothing for it but a policy of restriction. However, I wentthere, of course. They were very civil, but they told me frankly thatit was impossible to help all who came to them; that they must protecttheir reserve. They were inclined to find fault, and said it wascredit recklessly granted that had produced the trouble, and the onlycure was restriction."

  "But surely," Arthur protested, "where a bank is able to show that itis solvent?"

  "I argued it with them. I told them that I agreed that the cure was todraw in, but that they should have entered on that path earlier; thatto enter on it now suddenly and without discrimination after a periodof laxity was the way to bring on the worst disaster the country hadever known. That to give help where it could be shown that moderatehelp would suffice, to support the sound and let the rotten go was theproper policy, and would limit the trouble. But I could not persuadethem. They would not take the best bills, would in fact take nothing,discount nothing, would hardly advance even on government securities.When I left them----"

  "Yes?" The banker had paused, his face betraying emotion.

  "I heard a rumor about Pole's."

  "Pole's? Pole's!" Arthur cried, astounded; and he turned a shadepaler. "Sir Peter Pole and Co.? You don't mean it, sir? Why, if theygo scores of country banks will go! Scores! They are agents for sixtyor seventy, aren't they?"

  The banker nodded. His weariness was more and more apparent. "Yes,Pole's," he said gloomily. "And I heard it on good authority. Thetruth is--it has not extended to the public yet, but in the banksthere is panic already. They do not know where the first crash willcome, or who may be affected. And any moment the scare may spread tothe public. When it does it will run through the country likewild-fire. It will be here in twenty-four hours. It will shake evenDean's. It will shake us down. My God! when I think that for the lackof ten or twelve thousand pounds--which a year ago we could haveraised three times over with the stroke of a pen--just for the lack ofthat a sound business like this----"

  He broke off, unable to control his voice. He could not continue.Clement went out softly, and for a minute or so there was silence inthe room, broken only by the ticking of the clock, the noise of wheelsin the street, the voices of passers-by--voices that drifted in anddied away again, as the speakers walked by on the pavement. Oppositethe bank, at the corner of the Market Place, two dogs were fightingbefore a barber's shop. A woman drove them off with an umbrella. Her"Shoo! Shoo!" was audible in the silence of the room.

  Before either spoke again, Clement returned. He bore a decanter ofport, a glass, a slice of cake. "D'you take this, sir," he said. "Youare worn out. And never fear," cheerily, "we shall pull through yet,sir. There will surely be some who will see that it will pay better tohelp us than to pull us down."

  The banker smiled at him, but his hand shook as he poured out thewine. "I hope so," he said. "But we must buckle to. It will try usall. A run once started--have there been any withdrawals?"

  They told him what had happened and described the state of feeling inthe town. Rodd had been going about, gauging it quietly. He could doso more easily, and with less suspicion, than the partners. Peoplewere more free with him.

  Ovington held his glass before him by the stem and looked thoughtfullyat it. "That reminds me," he said, "Rodd had some money with us--threehundred on deposit, I think. He had better have it. It will make nodifference one way or the other, and he cannot afford to lose it."

  Arthur looked doubtful. "Three hundred," he said, "might make thedifference."

  "Well, it might, of course," the banker admitted wearily. "But he hadbetter have it. I should not like him to suffer."

  "No," Clement said. "He must have it. Shall I see to it now? Thesooner the better."

  No one demurred, and he left the room. When he had gone Arthur roseand walked to the window. He looked out. Presently he turned. "As tothat twelve thousand?" he said. "That you said would pull us through?Is there no way of getting it? Can't you think of any way, sir?"

  "I am afraid not," Ovington answered, shaking his head. "I see no way.I've strained our resources, I've tried every way. I see no wayunless----"

  "Yes, sir? Unless?"

  "Unless--and I am afraid that there is no chance of that--your unclecould be induced to come forward and support us--in your interest."

  Arthur laughed aloud, but there was no mirth in the sound. "If that isyour hope, if you have any idea of that kind, sir," he said, "I amafraid you don't know him yet. I know nothing less likely."

  "I am afraid that you are right. Still, your future is at stake. I amsorry that it is so, lad, but there it is. And if it could be madeclear to him that he ran no risk?"

  "But could it? Could it?"

  "He would run no risk."

  "But could he be brought to see that?" Arthur spoke sharply, almostwith contempt. "Of course he could not! If you knew what his attitudeis towards banks generally, and bankers, you would see the absurdityof it! He hates the very name of Ovington's."

  The other yielded. "Just so," he said. Even to him the idea wasunpalatable. "It was only a forlorn hope, a wild idea, lad, and I'llsay no more about it. It comes to this, that we must depend onourselves, show a brave face, and hope for the best."
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  But Arthur, though he had scoffed at the suggestion which Ovington hadmade, could not refrain from turning it over in his mind. He hadcourage enough for anything, and it was not the lack of that whichhindered him from entertaining the project. The storm which wasgathering ahead, and which threatened the shipwreck of his cherishedambition and his dearest hopes, was terrible to him, and to escapefrom its fury he would have faced any man, had that been all. But thatwas not all. He had other interests. If he applied to the Squire andthe Squire took it amiss, as it was pretty certain that he would,then not only would no good be done and no point be gained, but thelife-boat, on which he might himself escape, if things came to theworst, would be shipwrecked also.

  For that life-boat consisted in the Squire's influence with Josina.The Squire's word might still prevail with the girl, silly andunpractical as she was. It was a chance; no more than a chance, Arthurrecognized that. But at Garth the old man's will had always been law,and if he could be brought to put his foot down, Arthur could notbelieve that Josina would resist him. And amid the wreck of so manyhopes and so many ambitions, every chance, even a desperate chance,was of value.

  But if he was to retain the Squire's favor, if he was to fall back onhis influence, he must do nothing to forfeit that favor. Certainly hemust not hazard it by acting on a suggestion as ill-timed and hopelessas that which the banker had put forward. Not to save the bank, not tosave Ovington, not to save anyone! The more, as he felt sure that theapplication would do none of these things.

  Ovington did not know the old man. He did, and he was not going tosink his craft, crank and frail as it already was, by taking inpassengers.