“Well, he is a very old customer,” the banker replied patiently, “and he’s hard hit—he wanted it for wages, and I fear that he’s behindhand with them. And if we withhold all help, my boy, we shall certainly precipitate a run. On Monday those bills of Badger’s fall due, and I think will be met. We shall receive eleven hundred from them. On Tuesday another bill for three hundred and fifty matures, and I think is good. If we can go on till Wednesday we shall be a little stronger to meet the crisis than we are to-day. And we can only live from day to day”—wearily. “If Pole’s bank goes”—he glanced doubtfully at the door—“I fear that Williams’s will follow. And then——” “There will be the devil to pay!” “Well, we must try to pay him!” “Bravo, sir!” Clement cried. “That’s the way to talk.” “Yes, it is no use to dwell on the dark side,” his father agreed. “All the same”—he was silent a while, reviewing the position and making calculations which he had made a hundred times before—“all the same, it would make all the difference if we had that twelve thousand pounds in reserve.” “By Jove, yes!” Arthur exclaimed. For a moment hope animated his face. “Can you think of no way of getting it, sir?” The banker shook his head. “I have tried every quarter,” he said, “and strained every resource. I cannot. I’m afraid we must fight our battle as we are.” Arthur gazed at the floor. The elder man looked at him and thought again of the Squire. But he would not renew his suggestion. Arthur knew better than he what was possible in that quarter, and if he saw no hope, there doubtless was no hope. At best the idea had been fantastic, in view of the prejudice which the Squire entertained against the bank. While they pondered, the door opened, and all three looked sharply round, the movement betraying the state of their nerves. But it was only Betty who entered—a little graver and a little older than the Betty of eight or nine months before, but with the same gleam of humor in her eyes. “What a conclave!” she cried. She looked round on them. “Yes,” Arthur answered drily. “It wants only Rodd to be complete.” “Just so.” She made a face. “How much you think of him lately!” “And unfortunately he’s taken his little all and left us.” The shot told. Her eyes gleamed, and she colored with anger. “What do you mean? Dad”—brusquely—“what does he mean?” “Only that we thought it better,” the banker explained, “to make Rodd safe by paying him the little he has with us.” “And he took it—of course?” The banker smiled. “Of course he took it,” he said. “He would have been foolish if he had not. It was only a deposit, and there was no reason why he should risk it with us—as things are.” “Oh, I see. Things are as bad as that, are they? Any other rats?”—with a withering look at Arthur. “I am afraid that there is no one else who can leave,” her father answered. “The gangway is down now, my dear, and we sink or swim together.”