“Remove the deposits!” says the General.
“I dare not!” whines the weak-kneed one.
“I will take the responsibility!” urges the General.
Still the weak-kneed one falters. At that the General sets him aside.
The “removal” of those Government millions, which is as the drawing off of half their life blood, leaves the Bank and Banker Biddle exceeding pale in the face. They look appealingly at Statesman Clay, who, the better to manage his side of the conflict, has taken a Kentucky seat in the Senate. Statesman Clay encourages the Bank and Banker Biddle. It will all come right, he says; there is a Senate bomb preparing.
To bring the General squarely before the public as the Bank's destroyer, Statesman Clay anticipates the years and offers a measure renewing the charter of that money temple. Statesman Calhoun, with every Senate foe of the General, is for it. The measure gallops through both Senate and House. It is sent whirling to the White House.
“Will he sign it?” wonders Statesman Clay, in consultation with his own thoughts.
For an anxious moment Statesman Clay fears the coming of that signature; he cannot conceive of courage greater than his own. His anxiety is misplaced. The General will not sign. When the Clay-constructed measure renewing the charter of the Bank is laid before him, with about what ado might attend the killing of a garter snake he breaks its back with his veto.
Statesman Clay rubs his satisfied hands.
“Now,” says he to Banker Biddle, who is becoming a bit weak, “we have him helpless! That veto is his death warrant! The campaign is at hand; I shall be the candidate of my party, he of his. That veto shall be the issue! Money, you know, is all powerful. Being so, who shall doubt the result when now the public is driven to choose between the Bank and the White House—Prosperity and Andrew Jackson?”