“Well, he oughtn't to keep his doors closed at this time of day,” remarked Miller. “A man who has other people's money in his charge can' t be too careful.” “He's got some o' mine,” said the grocer, “and Mary Ann Tarpley, my wife's sister, put two hundred thar day before yesterday. Oh, I reckon nothin' s wrong, though I do remember I heerd somebody say Craig bought cotton futures an' sometimes got skeerd up a little about meetin' his obligations.” “I have never heard that,” said Rayburn Miller, raising his brows. “Well, I have, an' I've heerd the same o' Winship,” said the grocer, “but I never let it go no furder. I ain't no hand to circulate ill reports agin a good member of the church.” Miller bit his lip and an unpleasant thrill passed over him as Trabue walked on. “Twenty-five thousand,” he thought, “is no small amount. It would tempt five men out of ten if they were inclined to go wrong, and were in a tight.” The grocer was looking at him steadily. “You bank thar, don't you?” he asked. Miller nodded: “But I happen to have no money there right now. I made a deposit at the other bank yesterday.” “Suspicious, heigh? Now jest a little, wasn't you?” The grocer now spoke with undisguised uneasiness. “Not at all,” replied the lawyer. “I was doing some business for the other bank, and felt that I ought to favor them by my cash deposits.” “You don't think thar's anything the matter, do you?” asked the grocer, his face still hardening. “I think Craig is acting queerly--very queerly for a banker,” was Miller's slow reply. “He has always been most particular to open up early and--” “Hello,” cried out a cheery voice, that of the middle-aged proprietor of the Darley Flouring Mills, emerging from Barnett's store. “I see you fellows have your eye on Craig's front. If he was a drinking man we might suspicion he'd been on a tear last night, wouldn't we?” “It looks damned shaky to me,” retorted the grocer, growing more excited. “I'm goin' over there an' try that door again. A man 'at has my money can't attract the attention Craig has an' me say nothin'.” The miller pulled his little turf of gray beard and winked at Rayburn. “You been scarin' Barnett,” he said, with a tentative inflection. “He's easily rattled. By-the-way, now that I think of it, it does seem to me I heard some of the Methodists talkin' about reproving Craig an' Winship for speculatin' in grain and cotton. I know they've been dabblin' in it, for Craig always got my market reports. He's been dealin' with a bucket-shop in Atlanta.” “I'm going over there,” said Miller, abruptly, and he hurried across in the wake of the big grocer. The miller followed him. On the other side of the street several people were curiously watching the bank door, and when Barnett went to it and grasped the handle and began to shake it vigorously they crossed over to him.