“But, gentlemen”—the banker smiled a philanthropic smile—“we must be generous. We can offer the retailers liberal terms—we can offer them all the small change they want for immediate delivery by Monday noon. We can make the terms seven dollars for five dollars in small change. From what I know of the conditions, I am confident that all the small change we have amassed will be gladly taken at that price. We have on hand in round numbers nine and one-half millions. For this we will receive $13,300,000. Deducting our capital, and the half-million that it cost us for collection, this will still leave us $2,800,000, or something more than a half million apiece after Mr. Connors has had his tenth.”
Monday dawned bright and clear, and Mr. Martin was early in reaching his office at the Safe Deposit Company. So was Mr. Connors. The last thing on Saturday night circulars had been mailed to all the principal retailers and to the street railway companies announcing that the Safe Deposit Company was prepared to supply an unlimited amount of small change on short notice.
“The street-cars caught it hard this morning,” whispered Mr. Connors as he dropped downstairs for a moment to see how things were going. “How are things progressing? Any answers to the circulars yet?”
Mr. Martin shook his head, but he glanced at the clock.
“It’s too early,” he said. “It’ll take them an hour or two to realize what a bad situation they are in.”
“I suppose it will,” said Connors as he went upstairs to send out scouts.
An hour later he was back downstairs in Mr. Martin’s office. The Senator was there, too. Both he and Martin looked worried.
“Say,” said Connors, “something’s gone wrong somewhere. The department stores seem to be doing business the same as ever. And there’s pennies everywhere!”
“That’s just what the Senator was telling me,” said Mr. Martin, with a puzzled air.
“Well, where in blazes are all the pennies coming from?” demanded Connors angrily.