“I argued it with them. I told them that I agreed that the cure was to draw in, but that they should have entered on that path earlier; that to enter on it now suddenly and without discrimination after a period of laxity was the way to bring on the worst disaster the country had ever known. That to give help where it could be shown that moderate help would suffice, to support the sound and let the rotten go was the proper policy, and would limit the trouble. But I could not persuade them. They would not take the best bills, would in fact take nothing, discount nothing, would hardly advance even on government securities. When I left them——” “Yes?” The banker had paused, his face betraying emotion. “I heard a rumor about Pole’s.” “Pole’s? Pole’s!” Arthur cried, astounded; and he turned a shade paler. “Sir Peter Pole and Co.? You don’t mean it, sir? Why, if they go scores of country banks will go! Scores! They are agents for sixty or seventy, aren’t they?” The banker nodded. His weariness was more and more apparent. “Yes, Pole’s,” he said gloomily. “And I heard it on good authority. The truth is—it has not extended to the public yet, but in the banks there is panic already. They do not know where the first crash will come, or who may be affected. And any moment the scare may spread to the public. When it does it will run through the country like wild-fire. It will be here in twenty-four hours. It will shake even Dean’s. It will shake us down. My God! when I think that for the lack of ten or twelve thousand pounds—which a year ago we could have raised three times over with the stroke of a pen—just for the lack of that a sound business like this——” He broke off, unable to control his voice. He could not continue. Clement went out softly, and for a minute or so there was silence in the room, broken only by the ticking of the clock, the noise of wheels in the street, the voices of passers-by—voices that drifted in and died away again, as the speakers walked by on the pavement. Opposite the bank, at the corner of the Market Place, two dogs were fighting before a barber’s shop. A woman drove them off with an umbrella. Her “Shoo! Shoo!” was audible in the silence of the room. Before either spoke again, Clement returned. He bore a decanter of port, a glass, a slice of cake. “D’you take this, sir,” he said. “You are worn out. And never fear,” cheerily, “we shall pull through yet, sir. There will surely be some who will see that it will pay better to help us than to pull us down.” The banker smiled at him, but his hand shook as he poured out the wine. “I hope so,” he said. “But we must buckle to. It will try us all. A run once started—have there been any withdrawals?” They told him what had happened and described the state of feeling in the town. Rodd had been going about, gauging it quietly. He could do so more easily, and with less suspicion, than the partners. People were more free with him.