“Well, I'd like to know what your reason is for not sending all your gold to the Assay Office?”
“My reason is that I want to make a lot of money later by not sending the gold to the Assay Office now. Remember my very words!”
“But how are you going to do it?” Stewardson could not help asking, because he was so puzzled that his sense of humor was paralyzed.
“By having the gold—that's how.”
“That's all right! But why don't you change it into coin? That way you can have it at a moment's notice.”
“My dear chap, do you know how many hours it will take the Assay Office, after I take my dust in there, to give me a check for the proceeds? I get ninety per cent, of the value at once. If I cash this gold now I'll spend it. I know it! I never could resist the temptation to spend—it is my one weakness. And if I spent it what would I have to show for the hardships of thirty years?”
“But why don't you deposit it with us? We'll allow you two and a half per cent. Or if you make it a time deposit we can do better than that by you. You know you can always get gold for it if you ask us for it.”
“I can, can I?” laughed Jerningham, with a sort of good-natured mockery. “How about 1907 and your old clearing-house certificates—eh? What?” Stewardson was nettled. So he permitted himself the supreme, all-conquering argument of business: “But you are losing one hundred and eighty thousand dollars a year by leaving your gold uncoined and undeposited.”
“I won't lose a year's interest, because it isn't going to take a year for the big panic to come.” Stewardson laughed—a kindly laugh. “For pity's sake, don't wait for that! Panics have a habit of not coming if expected. Just now everybody is bluer than indigo. You'd think the United States was on its last legs. Invest at once, and don't wait for the bargains at the funeral that may never come.”
“How sound is this institution?” Jerningham looked Stewardson full in the face.