"Randolph street!" yells the conductor in a great voice.
The irate and insulted Corkey debarks with Lockwin.
"Pardner, I wouldn't like to see him come back, though. I'd be sorry for him. Think of the racket he'd have to take!"
"What time does the train start for New York?" asks Lockwin.
"Panic! Panic! Panic!" is the deafening cry of the newsboys.
The two men join a crowd in front of a telegraph office. Bulletins are on a board and in the windows. Men are rushing about. The scene is in strange contrast with the sylvan drama which is closing far to the north, where the choir is singing "Asleep in Jesus."
There is a financial crash on the New York Stock Exchange. Bank after bank is failing. "The New State's Fund Closes," is the latest bulletin.
"I got pretty near a thousand cases," says Corkey, "but you bet your sweet life she ain't in no bank. I put my money in the vaults."
"Banks are better," says Lockwin. He has a bank-book somewhere in his pockets. He pulls forth a mass of letters gray with wear. The visible letter reads:
"HON. DAVID LOCKWIN,
Washington,
D. C."