The following story, also illustrative of the same popular fallacy, passes current in one of the towns of Eastern Connecticut: During the severe financial panic of 1857, an honest country farmer and deacon, who, by virtue of being a considerable stockholder in one of the local banks, had been placed as a figure-head on its board of directors, was applied to by a farmer friend to help him in procuring from the bank a small loan. Knowing that the times were hard, and money scarce, the deacon, although desirous of obliging his friend, did not at once commit himself, but promised to go to the bank, and make his action contingent upon the state of affairs which he might there find. The two friends, accordingly, went into town the next day (which happened to be the culminating day of the crisis, when every promise to pay issued by any bank was, in the general distrust, gathered up and rushed in for redemption); and, while the applicant for the loan waited outside, the director entered the bank to reconnoitre. Passing into the directors' room, and thence behind the counter, he said little, but, keeping his eyes wide open, did not fail to notice the extraordinarily large packages of bills, filling safe and drawers, which, to the annoyance and strain of the bank, had been recently sent in for payment. Seeking no further proof of the financial strength of his institution, he returned to the street, and, informing his friend that every thing was all right, the latter next entered, and confidently asked for his discount. To his great surprise, he received the usual polite answer, that "they would be too glad to oblige him, but that, really, they had no money." "Out of money!" said the deacon, when the result of the application was made known to him. "Out of money! How can they lie so, when I have just seen the safe and drawers full of it? As a Christian man, and an officer of the church, I can't conscientiously be a director and stockholder any longer in such an immoral institution." And yet, if, on returning home, the good deacon had found in his table-drawer a number of his individual promissory-notes, signed and ready to issue, but not issued, he would not have thought himself any richer by their existence, but, on the contrary, would have felt much more comfortable at such a time to know that the notes were all under double-lock security, or, better, if he saw them vanishing into ashes. And yet, in the case of the bank-notes, he couldn't understand why they were not money, to be used at all times and under all circumstances! [36] Between the years 1860 and 1870, the United States doubled the quantity of currency available for use by its citizens, and yet the rate of interest was as high in the latter year as in the former. [37] Such were some of the uses finally made of the Continental currency. See Sumner's "History of American Currency," p. 46. End of Project Gutenberg's Robinson Crusoe's Money;, by David A. Wells