Ovington's Bank

by Stanley John Weyman

But Acherley cut him short. “Oh, d—n all that!” he cried. “I did not come here to palaver. The long and short of it is you’ve got to take the shares, or, by Gad, I go out of this room and I say what I think! And you’ll take the consequences. There’s talk enough in the town already as you know. It only needs another punch, one more good punch, and you’re out of the ring and in the sponging house. And your beautiful bank you know where. You know that as well as I do, my good man. And if you want a friend instead of an enemy you’ll oblige me, and no words about it. That’s flat!”

The room was growing dark. Ovington stood facing such light as there was. He looked very pale. “Yes, that’s quite flat,” he said.

“Very good. Then what do you say to it?”

“What I said before—No! No, Mr. Acherley!”

“What? Do you mean it? Why, if you are such a fool as not to know your own interests——”

“I do know them—very well,” Ovington said, resolutely taking him up. “I know what you want and I know what you offer. It is, as you say, quite flat, and I’ll be equally—flat! Your support is not worth the price. And I warn you, Mr. Acherley, and I beg you to take notice, that if you say a word against the solvency of the bank after this—-after this threat—you will be held accountable to the law. And more than that, I can assure you of another thing. If, as you believe, there is going to be trouble, it is you and such as you who will be the first to suffer. Your creditors——”

“The devil take them! And you!” the gentleman cried, stung to fury. “Why, you swollen little frog!” losing all control over himself, “you don’t think my support worth buying, don’t you? You don’t think it’s worth a dirty hundred or two of your scrapings! Then I tell you I’ll put my foot on you—by G—d, I will! Yes! I’ll tread you down into the mud you sprang from! If you were a gentleman I’d shoot you on the Flash at eight o’clock to-morrow, and eat my breakfast afterwards! You to talk to me! You, you little spawn from the gutter! I’ve a good mind to thrash you within an inch of your life, but there’ll be those ready enough to do that for me by and by—ay, and plenty, by G—d!”

He towered over the banker, and he looked threatening enough, but Ovington did not flinch. He went to the door and threw it open. “There’s the door, Mr. Acherley!” he said.

For a moment the gentleman hesitated. But the banker’s firm front prevailed, and with a gesture, half menacing, half contemptuous, Acherley stalked out. “The worse for you!” he said. “You’ll be sorry for this! By George, you will be sorry for this next week!”

“Good evening,” said the banker—he was trembling with passion. “I warn you to be careful what you say, or the law will deal with you.” And he stood his ground until the other, shrugging his shoulders and flinging behind him a last curse, had passed through the door. Then he closed the door and went back to the fireplace. He sat down.