It was well done, with calmness and dignity, but as he ceased to speak—his appearance had for the moment imposed silence—a disturbance broke out near the door. A man thrust himself in. Ovington, already in the act of turning, recognized the newcomer, and a keen observer might have noted that his face, grave before, turned a shade paler. But he met the blow. “Is that Mr. Yapp?” he asked. It was the auctioneer from Iron Ferry. “Ay, Mr. Ovington, it is,” he said, the perspiration on his face, “and you know my position.” Ovington nodded. Yapp was one of five depositors—big men—whose claims had been, for the last twenty-four hours, a nightmare to him. But he let nothing be seen, and “Kindly let Mr. Yapp pass,” he said; “I will deal with him myself.” Then, as one or two murmured and protested, “Gentlemen,” he said sternly, “you must let me conduct my business in my own way, or I close my doors. Let Mr. Yapp pass, if you please.” They let him through then, some grumbling, others patting him on the back—“Good luck to you, Jimmy!” cried one well-wisher. The counter was raised, and resettling his clothes about him, the auctioneer followed Mr. Ovington into the parlor. The banker closed the door upon them. “How much is it, Mr. Yapp?” he asked. The man’s hand shook as he drew out the receipt. “Two thousand, seven hundred and forty,” he said. “I hope to God it’s all right, sir?” His voice shook. “It’s not my money, and to lose it would three parts ruin me.” “You need not fear,” the banker assured him. “The money is here.” But for a moment he did not continue. He stood, his eyes on the man’s face, lost in thought. Then, “The money is here, and you can have it, Yapp,” he said. “But I am going to be plain with you. You will do me the greatest possible favor if you will leave it for a few days. The bank is solvent—I give you my honor it is. No one will lose a penny by it in the end. But if this and other large sums are drawn to-day I may have to close for a time, and the injury to me will be very great. If you wish to make a friend who may be able to return the favor ten-fold——” But Yapp shook his head. “I daren’t do it!” he declared, the sweat springing out anew on his face. “It isn’t my money and I can’t leave it! I daren’t do it, sir!” Ovington saw that it was of no use to plead farther, and he changed his tone. “Very good,” he said, and he forced himself to speak equably. “I quite understand. You shall have the money.” Sitting down at the table he wrote the amount on a slip, and struck the bell that stood beside his desk. The younger clerk came in. He handed him the slip. Yapp did not waver, but he remembered that good turns had been done to him in that room, and he was troubled. “If it was my money,” he said awkwardly, “or if there was anything else I could do, Mr. Ovington?” “You can,” Ovington replied. He had got himself in hand, and he spoke cheerfully. “Well——” “You can hold your tongue, Yapp,” smiling.