Ovington's Bank. Weyman Stanley John

he had already considered put on a new aspect, and by and by his brow relaxed and he smote his thigh. Something tickled him and he laughed. He thought that he saw a way to avenge himself and to annoy his enemy, and by the time he reached the bank he was himself again. Indeed, he had not been human if he had not by that time owned that whatever Garth thought of him he was something in Aldersbury.

      Three times men stopped him, one crossing the street to intercept him, one running bare-headed from a shop, a third seizing his rein. And all three sought favors, or craved advice, all, as they retreated, did so, eyed askance by those who lacked their courage or their impudence.

      For the tide of speculation was still rising in the country, and even in Aldersbury had reached many a back-parlor where the old stocking or the money-box was scarcely out of date. Thousands sold their Three per cents., and the proceeds had to go somewhere, and other proceeds, for behind all there was real prosperity. Men's money poured first into a higher and then into a lower grade of security and raised each in turn, so that fortunes were made with astonishing speed. The banks gave extended credit; everything rose. Many who had bought in fear found that they had cleared a profit before they had had time to tremble. They sold, and still there were others to take their place. It seemed as if all had only to buy and to sell and to grow rich. Only the very cautious stood aside, and one by one even these slid tempted into the stream.

      The more venturesome hazarded their money afar, buying shares in steamship companies in the West Indies, in diamond mines in Brazil, or in cattle companies in Mexico. The more prudent preferred undertakings which they could see and which their limited horizon could compass, and to these such a local scheme as the Valleys Railroad held out a tempting bait. They knew nothing about a railroad, but they knew that steam had been applied to ocean travel, and they knew Aldersbury and the woollen district. Here was something the growth and progress of which they could watch, and which once begun could not vanish in a night.

      Then the silence of those within and the rumors spread without added to its attractions. Each man felt that his neighbor was stealing a march upon him, and that if he were not quick he would not get in on equal terms.

      One of Ovington's waylayers wished to know if the limit at which he had been advised to sell his stock was likely to be reached. "I sold on Saturday," the banker answered, "two pounds above your limit, Davies. The money will be in the bank in a week." He spoke with Napoleonic curtness, and rode on, leaving the man, amazed and jubilant, to calculate his gains.

      The next wanted advice. He had a hundred in hand if Mr. Ovington would not think it too small. "Call to-morrow-no, Thursday," Ovington said, hardly looking at him. "I'll see you then."

      The third ran bare-headed out of a shop. He was a man of more weight, Purslow the big draper on Bride Hill, who had been twice Mayor of Aldersbury; a tradesman, bald and sleek, whom fortune had raised so rapidly that old subservience was continually at odds with new importance. "Just a word, Mr. Ovington," he stuttered, "a word, sir, by your leave? I'm a good customer." He had not laid aside his black apron but merely twisted it round his waist, a sure sign, in these days of his greatness, that he was flustered.

      The banker nodded. "None better, Purslow," he answered. "What is it?"

      "What I says, then-excuse me-is, if Grounds, why not me? Why not me, sir?"

      "I don't quite-"

      "If he's to be on the Board, he and his mash-tubs-"

      "Oh!" The banker looked grave. "You are thinking of the Railroad, Purslow?"

      "To be sure! What else? – excuse me, sir! And what I say is, if Grounds, why not me? I've been mayor twice and him not even on the Council? And I'm not a pauper, as none knows better than you, Mr. Ovington. If it's only that I'm a tradesman, why, there ought to be a tradesman on it, and I'll be bound as many will follow my lead as Grounds'."

      The banker seemed to consider. "Look here, Purslow," he said, "you are doing very well, not a man in Aldersbury better. Take my advice and stick to the shop."

      "And slave for every penny I make!"

      "Slow and sure is a good rule."

      "Oh, damn slow and sure!" cried the draper, forgetting his manners. "No offence, sir, I'm sure. Excuse me. But slow and sure, while Grounds is paid for every time he crosses the street, and doubles his money while he wears out his breeches!"

      "Well," said Ovington, with apparent reluctance, "I'll think it over. But to sit on the Board means putting in money, Purslow. You know that, of course."

      "And haven't I the money?" the man cried, inflamed by opposition. "Can't I put down penny for penny with Grounds? Ay, though I've served the town twice, and him not even on the Council!"

      "Well, I'll bear it in mind. I can say no more than that," Ovington rejoined. "I must consult Sir Charles. It's a responsible position, Purslow. And, of course, where there are large profits, as we hope there may be, there must be risk. There must be some risk. Don't forget that. Still," touching up his horse with his heel, "I'll see what I can do."

      He gained the bank without further stay, and there the stir and bustle which his practised eye was quick to mark sustained the note already struck. There were customers coming and going: some paying in, others seeking to have bills renewed, or a loan on securities that they might pay calls, or accommodation of one kind or another. But with easy money these demands could be granted, and many a parcel of Ovington's notes passed out amid smiling and general content. The January sun was shining as if March winds would never blow, and credit seemed to be a thing to be had for the asking.

      It was only within the last seven years that Ovington's had ventured on an issue of notes. Then, a little before the resumption of cash payments, they had put them forth with a tentative, "If you had rather have bank paper it's here." Some had had the bad taste to prefer the Abraham Newlands, a few had even asked for Dean's notes. But borrowers cannot be choosers, the notes had gradually got abroad, and though at first they had returned with the rapidity of a homing pigeon, the readiness with which they were cashed wrought its effect, and by this time the public were accustomed to them.

      Dean's notes bore a big D, and Ovington's, for the benefit of those who could not read, were stamped with a large CO., for Charles Ovington.

      Alone with his daughter that evening the banker referred to this. "Betty," he said, after a long silence, "I am going to make a change. I am going to turn CO. into Company."

      She understood him at once, and "Oh, father!" she cried, laying down her work. "Who is it? Is it Arthur?"

      "Would you like that?"

      She replied by another question. "Is he really so clever?"

      "He's a gentleman-that's much. And a Griffin, and that's more, in a place like this. And he's-yes, he's certainly clever."

      "Cleverer than Mr. Rodd?"

      "Rodd! Pooh! Arthur's worth two of him."

      "Quite the industrious apprentice!" she murmured, her hands in her lap.

      "Well, you know," lightly, "what happened to the industrious apprentice, Betty?"

      She colored. "He married his master's daughter, didn't he? But there are two words to that, father. Quite two words."

      "Well, I am going to offer him a small share. Anything more will depend upon himself-and Clement."

      She sighed. "Poor Clement!"

      "Poor Clement!" The banker repeated her words pettishly. "Not poor Clement, but idle Clement! Can you do nothing with that boy? Put no sense into him? He's good for nothing in the world except to moon about with a gun. Last night he began to talk to me about Cobbett and some new wheat. New wheat, indeed! Rubbish!"

      "But I think," timidly, "that he does understand about those things, father."

      "And what good will they do him? I wish he understood a little more about banking! Why, even Rodd is worth two of him. He's not in the bank four days in the week. Where is he to-day?"

      "I am afraid that he took his gun-but it was the last day of the season. He said that he would not be out again. He has been really better lately."

      "Though I was away!" the banker exclaimed. And