“Susan, were the Godfrey Sheldons invited?”
“Godfrey Sheldons—who are they?” Mrs. White replied, spitting the pins from her mouth.
“Why, that red-headed chap in the country who went to the Legislature and thinks he knows all creation; biggest depositor in my bank, with two red-headed girls like himself. You must know ’em. They sit three pews from us in church, across the aisle, and wear infernal big hats, while he reads the loudest of anybody, as if the Lord was deaf, and looks round to see who is listening to him. You must know him.”
Mrs. White did remember the big hats and the pompous man, who read scarcely louder than her husband. “But I have no acquaintance with them,” she said. “I believe Herbert did suggest that they be invited, with a lot of others, who went into the waste basket. I asked the Gibsons from the Corners. Their son was in Yale with Fred, and their daughter has been to Vassar, but I didn’t suppose you wanted all the country people invited who deposit with you, or I would have taken your bank list.”
“Of course not,” the judge replied. “That would have included Nancy Sharp and a lot more like her. Maybe that is what ails Sheldon, who is drawing all his money at one lick, five thousand dollars, without giving us notice. Not that it will burst the bank, but it looks queer when he has always been so friendly with me.”
There was a call for Mrs. White, and she hurried away, giving no more thought to Godfrey Sheldon and his red-headed daughters.
The carriage was at the door by this time, and the judge, with his sister, Miss Percy, and Fred Lansing, were soon driving in the direction of the bank. As they turned into a cross street they passed Louie, resting on her wheel and talking with a young man, also on a wheel, who seemed to have come from the opposite direction, and was evidently telling something which excited them both. As the carriage came up their voices dropped, but Fred Lansing was sure he caught the word “bank,” and remembered afterward the peculiar look both gave to the judge.
“That’s an awfully pretty girl,” Fred said to Miss Percy. “A Miss Grey, isn’t it?” and he turned to the judge, who answered, rather coldly:
“I didn’t notice particularly. There is a Grey girl in town some people think pretty. She is generally on the street—quite a gadder. She is Tom Grey’s daughter. He is running a little one-horse bank beside mine. But he can’t hold out, with no capital that anybody knows of. I gave him six months when he started, and he’s been at it four years, but he’ll come to the end of his rope. Yes, sir! you’ll see. Hallo! what under the heavens are those women running like that for? Is there a fire?” he added, as on passing a corner he saw several women running rapidly in the direction of Main Street, headed by Nancy Sharp, the washerwoman from White’s Row, a part of whose small savings were deposited in his bank, and who worked for his wife at intervals by way of paying her rent.
Two of the women had on sun-bonnets, but Nancy was bareheaded, with her sleeves rolled up and her big apron on, showing she had just come from her washtub.