"Still, every day is a day gained," the banker said as he dropped his mask on the Friday afternoon and sank wearily into a chair. It was closing time, and the clerks could be heard moving in the outer room, putting away books, counting the cash, locking the drawers. Another day had passed without special pressure. "Time is everything."
Arthur shrugged his shoulders. "It would be, if it were money."
"Well, I think that we are doing capitally--capitally so far," said Clement.
"I am glad you are satisfied," Arthur retorted. "We are four hundred down on the day! I can't think, sir"--peevishly--"why you let Purslow have that seventy pounds."
"Well, he is a very old customer," the banker replied patiently, "and he's hard hit--he wanted it for wages, and I fear that he's behindhand with them. And if we withhold all help, my boy, we shall certainly precipitate a run. On Monday those bills of Badger's fall due, and I think will be met. We shall receive eleven hundred from them. On Tuesday another bill for three hundred and fifty matures, and I think is good. If we can go on till Wednesday we shall be a little stronger to meet the crisis than we are to-day. And we can only live from day to day"--wearily. "If Pole's bank goes"--he glanced doubtfully at the door--"I fear that Williams's will follow. And then----"
"There will be the devil to pay!"
"Well, we must try to pay him!"
"Bravo, sir!" Clement cried. "That's the way to talk."
"Yes, it is no use to dwell on the dark side," his father agreed. "All the same"--he was silent a while, reviewing the position and making calculations which he had made a hundred times before--"all the same, it would make all the difference if we had that twelve thousand pounds in reserve."
"By Jove, yes!" Arthur exclaimed. For a moment hope animated his face.
"Can you think of no way of getting it, sir?"
The banker shook his head. "I have tried every quarter," he said, "and strained every resource. I cannot. I'm afraid we must fight our battle as we are."
Arthur gazed at the floor. The elder man looked at him and thought again of the Squire. But he would not renew his suggestion. Arthur knew better than he what was possible in that quarter, and if he saw no hope, there doubtless was no hope. At best the idea had been fantastic, in view of the prejudice which the Squire entertained against the bank.
While they pondered, the door opened, and all three looked sharply round, the movement betraying the state of their nerves. But it was only Betty who entered--a little graver and a little older than the Betty of eight or nine months before, but with the same gleam of humor in her eyes. "What a conclave!" she cried. She looked round on them.
"Yes," Arthur answered drily. "It wants only Rodd to be complete."
"Just so." She made a face. "How much you think of him lately!"
"And unfortunately he's taken his little all and left us."
The shot told. Her eyes gleamed, and she colored with anger. "What do you mean? Dad"--brusquely--"what does he mean?"
"Only that we thought it better," the banker explained, "to make Rodd safe by paying him the little he has with us."
"And he took it--of course?"
The banker smiled. "Of course he took it," he said. "He would have been foolish if he had not. It was only a deposit, and there was no reason why he should risk it with us--as things are."
"Oh, I see. Things are as bad as that, are they? Any other rats?"--with a withering look at Arthur.
"I am afraid that there is no one else who can leave," her father answered. "The gangway is down now, my dear, and we sink or swim together."
"Ah! Well, I fancy there's one of the rats in the dining-room now.
That is what I came to tell you. He wants to see you, dad."
"Who is it?"
"Mr. Acherley."
Ovington shrugged his shoulders. "Well, it is after hours," he said, "but--I'll see him."
That broke up the meeting. The banker went out to interview his visitor, who had been standing for some minutes at one of the windows of the dining-room, looking out on the slender stream of traffic that passed up and down the pavement or slid round the opposite corner into the Market Place.
Acherley was not of those who go round about when a direct and more brutal approach will serve. Broken fortunes had soured rather than tamed him, and though, when there had been something to be gained by it, he had known how to treat the banker with an easy familiarity, the contempt in which he held men of that class made it more natural to him to bully than to fawn. Before he had turned to the street for amusement he had surveyed the furniture of the room with a morose eye, had damned the upstart's impudence for setting himself up with such things, and consoled himself with the reflection that he would soon see it under the hammer. "And a d--d good job, too!" he had muttered.
"What the blazes does he want with a kidney wine-table and a plate-chest! It will serve Bourdillon right for lowering himself to such people!"
When the banker came to him he made no apology for the lateness of his visit, but "Hallo!" he said bluntly, "I want a little talk with you.
But short's the word. Fact is, I find I've more of those railway shares than it suits me to keep, Ovington, and I want you to take a hundred off my hands. I hear they're fetching two-ten."
"One-ten," the banker said. "They are barely that."
"Two-ten," Acherley repeated, as if the other had not spoken. "That's my price. I suppose the bank will accommodate me by taking them?"
Ovington looked steadily at him. "Do you mean the shares you pledged with us? If so, I am afraid that in any event we shall have to put them on the market soon. The margin has nearly run off."
"Oh, hang those!"--lightly. "You may as well account for them at the same price--two and a half. I'll consider that settled. But I've a hundred more that I don't want to keep, and it's those I am talking about. You'll take them, I suppose--for cash, of course? I'm a little pressed at present, and want the money."
"I am afraid that I must say, no," Ovington said. "We are not buying any more, even at thirty shillings. As to those we hold, if you wish us to sell them at once--and I am inclined to think that we ought to----"
"Steady, steady! Not so fast!" Acherley let the mask fall, and, drawing himself to his full height--and tall and lean, in his long riding coat shaped to the figure, he looked imposing and insolent enough--he tapped his teeth with the handle of his riding whip. "Not so fast, man! Think it over!"--with an ugly smile. "I've been of use to you. It is your turn to be of use to me. I want to be rid of these shares."
"Naturally. But we don't wish to take them, Mr. Acherley."
Acherley glowered at him. "You mean," he said, "that the bank can't afford to take them? If that's your meaning----"
"It does not suit us to take them."
"But by G--d you've got to take them! D'you hear, sir? You've got to take them, or take the consequences! I went into this to oblige you."
"Not at all," Ovington said. "You came into it with your eyes open, and with a view to the improvement of your property, if the enterprise proved a success. No man came into it with eyes more open! To be frank with you----"
But Acherley cut him short. "Oh, d--n all that!" he cried. "I did not come here to palaver. The long and short of it is you've got to take the shares, or, by Gad, I go out of this room and I say what I think!
And you'll take the consequences. There's talk enough in the town already as you know. It only needs another punch, one more good punch, and you're out of the ring and in the sponging house. And your beautiful bank you know where. You know that as well as I do, my good man. And if you want a friend instead of an enemy you'll oblige me, and no words about it. That's flat!"
The room was growing dark. Ovington stood facing such light as there was. He looked very pale. "Yes, that's quite flat," he said.
"Very good. Then what do you say to it?"
"What I said before--No! No, Mr. Acherley!"
"What? Do you mean it? Why, if you are such a fool as not to know your own interests----"
"I do know them--very well," Ovington said, resolutely taking him up.
"I know what you want and I know what you offer. It is, as you say, quite flat, and I'll be equally--flat! Your support is not worth the price. And I warn you, Mr. Acherley, and I beg you to take notice, that if you say a word against the solvency of the bank after this---after this threat--you will be held accountable to the law. And more than that, I can assure you of another thing. If, as you believe, there is going to be trouble, it is you and such as you who will be the first to suffer. Your creditors----"
"The devil take them! And you!" the gentleman cried, stung to fury.