"Now, Mrs. Bingham, if you'll only wait till Lincoln—"
"I don't want 'o wait. I want my money, right now."
"Will fifty dollars do?"
"No, sir; I want it all—every cent of it—jest as it was."
"But I can't do that. Your money is gone—"
"Gone? Where is it gone? What have you done with it? You thief—"
"'Sh!" He tried to quiet her. "I mean I can't give you your money—"
"Why can't you?" she stormed, trotting nervously on her feet as she stood there.
"Because—if you'd let me explain—we don't keep the money just as it comes to us. We pay it out, and take in other—"
Mrs. Bingham was getting more and more bewildered. She now had only one clear idea—she couldn't get her money. Her voice grew tearful like an angry child's.