“But Bob White can stand it,” he thought, as he walked into Grey’s Bank, where the consternation and excitement was nearly as great as in the other bank, and where Louie on her wheel had just arrived, breathless and panting.
When Mr. Grey first saw the crowd gathering in the street he had no suspicion of the cause until he heard the pounds upon the door and the cries to be let in. Then he said to Mr. Wilson, his cashier:
“What upon earth is the matter? Looks like a run?”
“’Tis a run,” Mr. Wilson answered dryly, opening their own door and stepping outside, where he stood, occasionally exchanging a word with some one asking if he thought the bank could stand the pressure.
Wilson didn’t know. All depended upon how much ready cash it had on hand. No bank expected to be called on any minute for every dollar, he said. Bob White could pay all he owed twice over, give him time, and his advice was that the howling idiots disperse and go home.
The howling idiots had no thought of going home. Some of those who at first had no intention to draw out their money concluded to do so now, if they could get a chance. And there lay a trouble. It took some time to pay off the applicants who were first in, and some time for them to get out, so thickly were the people packed upon the steps, and so unwilling were they to yield an inch of ground, and the excitement was increasing when the judge’s carriage dashed down the street and up to the door.
The sight of the judge standing on the seat and flourishing his hands brought a slight lull in the storm of voices, and the people watched him curiously and wondered what he was going to do. He did not know himself—the whole thing was so appalling and unexpected that he trembled with fear as he went up the steps, anxious to get inside, where he felt he should be safer than outside in the midst of that cyclone. When at last he was in the bank and stood inside the screen facing the two women, he felt better, and glaring at them savagely, asked:
“How much do you want?”
“Twenty-five dollars that I earned with my eggs and chickens,” and “Thirty dollars I earned by washing,” were the replies, as two pairs of brown, hard hands were stretched out eagerly toward Harry Groves, the cashier.
“Twenty-five dollars and thirty dollars! A big sum to make such a row about. Pay ’em, Groves; and now get out of here,” the judge said angrily; then, to the office boy, “Shut those doors a minute, and keep that infernal rabble out till I can think and hear what you’ve done and how much money there is left.”