There was nothing really surprising about it, though John had not expected that the two dissenting trustees would reach that turning in the lane so soon. On Sunday morning, when he had said to Mr. Cartwright that of course he and Mr. Meredith would not be able to escape all the scandal that would certainly attend the failure of the bank, it was no new fear that he put in the old man’s mind. Mr. Cartwright and his echo had discussed that possibility in awed whispers a dozen times since John had been made president. When he went to Cartwright’s house Monday evening, John referred frankly, though with a good deal of tact, to that very point; but he said nothing of the obvious way they had out of their difficulty. He left them to think of that for themselves. It was inevitable that they should think of it, and that they should decide that such a course, should it become necessary, would involve no betrayal of old John Bagsbury’s trust. Thanks to the other stockholders in the bank, and to the unspeakable Moffat, they had no real control of the larger part of the estate; and if their nominal authority were going to bring disgrace upon their eminently respectable old heads, why should they not discard it? When they heard that there was a run in progress at the bank, they set out thither merely because they were frightened. They had no idea of doing anything so radical as turning the estate over, then and there, into the mad hands of John Bagsbury. With all their perturbation, they would probably not have been able to make up their minds to such an act until the danger was over, had it not been for the crowd in the street. That crowd had frightened Pickering, had benumbed John, and it is not wonderful that at sight of it Mr. Cartwright and Mr. Meredith should feel the panic strike in to their very marrow. They were very old, they wanted no occupation more exciting than playing golf and telling old stories and sipping irreproachable sherry. But here was a mob, and here were policemen, here was riot and disaster, and, worse yet, a certain scandal. They fairly gasped with relief when they were safe in the little room, and the door was shut. Even John Bagsbury’s office seemed a haven after that tumultuous street. So it was natural enough that when John Bagsbury said, divining the rapidly forming purpose which underlay their querulous complaints and remonstrances, “Well, gentlemen, shall I telephone for Mr. Moffat?” that they should have assented, though their red faces grew redder as they did it, and that after the third trustee arrived, badly out of breath with hurry and with chuckling over the situation, the first steps to make John master of his own property should have been taken as promptly as possible.