"Waiting for the opening?"
"Yes." His glance followed Beecher's with a sudden concentration, and, taking up a matchbox, he struck a match and threw it away. "Waiting to see if I can escape working another year."
Beecher, comprehending that sympathy would be distasteful, picked up the morning papers. The scareheads were alive with the note of panic: a dozen banks were threatened with runs; a rumor was abroad that the Atlantic Trust and two other great institutions might close their doors within the next twenty-four hours; an interview with Majendie protested against the action of the Clearing-house, asserting the recklessness of the move and the solvency of the Trust Company; a riot was feared on the East Side, where the small Jewish depositors, always prey to alarms, were in a state of frenzy; vague, guarded hints of further actions to be expected by the Clearing-house against another prominent chain of banks, and a report that John G. Slade was to tender his resignation, were joined with rumors from the office of the State Examiner of Banks that there might be grounds for the criminal prosecution of certain officials.
The telephone rang. Lynch went to the receiver, arranging his pad methodically on the table. Beecher stopped reading, listening to the broken threads.
"All right, go ahead." ...
"How much?" ...
"Whew! Give me the Northern Pacific figures now." ...
"Yes—yes—I see." ...
"Something of a break, isn't it?" ...
"All right." ...