Mr. Amzi Montgomery's frequent absences in Indianapolis had occasioned comment of late. He returned, however, on the evening of the 28th, and before the "Bank Open" side of the battered tin sign was presented to Main Street on the morning of the 29th, a number of citizens had called to ask his opinion of the local financial conditions. He answered their anxious inquiries with his habitual nonchalance, leaning against the counter, with his cigar at an angle that testified to unruffled serenity and perfect peace with the world. Amzi had brought home from the capital a new standing collar, taller than he was in the habit of wearing, and from its deep recesses his countenance appeared more than usually chaste and demure. The collar, a dashing bow tie, and a speckled waistcoat that was the most daring expression of sartorial art available at the capital, gave to Amzi an air of uncommon jauntiness. "What about this, Amzi? Is the whole town going to smash?" asked Judge Walters. "Nope. Worst's over. Nothing to worry about." "I've got to appoint a receiver for the furniture company in a few minutes. I hope I'm not going to have to run the whole town through my court." "You won't. The Sugar Creek Furniture Company is a year behind time; I thought it would go down last year. Then they bounced Fosdick, and it naturally picked up a little; but it's hard to overcome a bad start, Judge." "I've politely turned over my court-room for a meeting of the furniture company employees this afternoon. Alec's going to holler; they say he's going to pitch into the traction company and dust off the banks and capital generally." "Good for Alec! He'll do a good job of it. Shouldn't wonder if he'd lead a mob down Main Street, hanging all the merchants, bankers, and judges of courts." "That would require more energy than Alec has; his love of the downtrodden is purely vocal." The county treasurer who followed the judge found Amzi disposed to be facetious over the reports that other failures were likely to follow the embarrassment of the furniture company. "Worst's over. Just a little flurry. When there's a rotten apple in the barrel, better get it out." The treasurer jerked his head in the direction of the First National. Amzi met his gaze, took the cigar from his mouth, and looked at the ash. "Thunder! It's all right." "How do you know that!" "I just guess it; that's all." "They say," the treasurer whispered, "that Bill has skipped." "Bill's over there in his bank right now," Amzi replied impatiently. "How do you make that out?" "Because I was talking to him on the 'phone ten minutes ago. If he's skipped, it must have been sudden. Tell people not to borrow trouble when they can borrow money. Money's easy on Main Street." Amzi wobbled his cigar in his mouth the while he smoothed his new waistcoat with both hands. He was feeling good. His house was in order; failures and rumors of failures could not disturb him.