He tottered to the couch, and she came and stood beside him, listening while he told her of his speculations, first with his own money and then with the depositors’; and how, when funds were needed for the house, he had drawn from the bank, when he had none there which lawfully belonged to him.
“And that isn’t the worst,” he said, as if resolved to make a clean breast of it; “it was not always stocks. It was regular gambling at the last. You asked me once if I were a gambler. I told you no. I wasn’t then. I have been since. I had a friend in New York who for a percentage did it for me with money I sent him—sometimes my own but oftener other people’s. Sometimes he won; sometimes he lost, and latterly it was more loss than gain. Everything was loss. I expected a big sum yesterday which would have put me on my feet, and had sworn to be an honest man if it came. I did, Louie, and I prayed in church all the time that it might come, and I’d begin new. The news came, and it was ruin. Your money is safe. I couldn’t let you lose that, and I took one hundred and fifty dollars from the funds and put away for you.”
There were little spots of red in the eyes which flashed angrily as Louie exclaimed, “I shall not touch it! I shall share with the rest! I can afford to lose far better than many of them!”
To this Mr. Grey made no reply, but continued: “I’ve made Blake my assignee. I saw him yesterday, and I made Nancy Sharp a preferred creditor. It’s a big joke,” and he laughed as he thought of the joke. Then he went on: “Stand by me, Louie. No matter how bad I am, I am your father, and love you so much. Don’t let them send me to prison. They can do it if they want to. And don’t look so at me,” he added, as Louie’s face grew paler and her eyes darker with a look she had never given him before, and from which he shrank. “I thought to end my life last night, and again this morning, but a thought of you restrained me. I have the means—see!” and held up the revolver, while Louie drew back from him a moment.
Then, with a quick movement she took it from him, and said:
“Father, would you kill yourself? Shame on you! Better State’s prison than that. I would rather think of you a felon than a suicide. How many balls are there in it?”
“Three,” he answered, and in rapid succession three reports rang through the room, the balls entering the floor, at which they were aimed.
Outside there was comparative quiet, for Mr. Blake had left the bank by the front door, and was explaining as well as he could, and advising the people to go home. Everything would be settled in time, and matters might not be as bad as they seemed. Mr. Grey would do everything he could for them, and they could do no good hanging round the bank.
“But we want to see Grey, and give him a piece of our mind,” several said.
These were mostly the small depositors who, like the milkman, had lost their all. One woman had laid by thirty dollars for some teeth to be made that week and she wrung her hands in despair over her loss.