"Never mind, gentlemen, we sweep out every night," said Amzi. "Now, let's all understand each other," he continued, tilting his hat over his left ear, and flourishing his cigar. "It's all right for you folks to come and get your money. The regular closing time of banks in this town is 3 P.M., Saturdays included. We've got a right to close in fifteen minutes. But just to show there's no hard feeling, I'm going to change the closing hour to-day from 3 P.M. to 3 A.M. Tomorrow's Sunday, and you can tell folks that's got money here that they won't have any trouble getting their change in time to put it in the collection basket to-morrow morning." A number of depositors, impressed by Amzi's tranquillity, tore up their checks and left the bank. To a woman who asked him what the excitement meant, Amzi explained politely that the town was experiencing what he called a "baby panic." "As an old friend, Martha, I advise you to leave your money here; if I decide to bust, I'll give you notice." Along the two lines, that now extended out upon the sidewalk, there was a craning of necks. A demand from one depositor that he repeat to all what he had said to the woman caused Amzi to retire behind the counter. There he stood upon a chair and talked through the screen, "I don't blame you folks for being nervous. Nobody wants to lose his money. Money is hard to get and harder to keep. But I've never lied across this counter to any man, woman, or child"--and then, as though ashamed of this vulgar assertion of rectitude, he added--"unless they needed to be lied to." There was laughter at this. The room was packed, and the lines had been broken by the crowd surging in from the street. "You can all have your money. But I hope you won't spend it foolishly or stick it in the chimney at home where it'll burn up. I ain't going to bust, ladies and gentlemen. This town is all right; it's the best little town in Indiana; sound as Sugar Creek bottom corn. This little sick infant panic we've had to-day will turn over and go to sleep pretty soon. As an old friend and neighbor of you all, I advise you to go home--with your money or without it, just as you like. It's all the same to me." "How about the First National?" a voice demanded. Amzi was relighting his cigar. There was a good deal of commotion in the room as many who had been pressing toward the windows withdrew, reassured by the banker's speech. Amzi, with one foot on a chair, the other on the note-teller's counter, listened while the question about the First National was repeated. "I'll say to you folks," said Amzi, his voice clearing and rising to a shrill pipe, "that in my judgment the First National Bank can pay all its claims. In fact--in fact, I'm dead sure of it!"