The banker said I was just the man he wanted to see. “If things go on as they are,” he said, “every bank will be closed by tomorrow afternoon. Not one of us can stand a half day’s run, and all will go down in a heap. Then look out for hell in general to break loose. This will happen if I don’t get a million dollars in coin in the vaults tonight. But I intend to get it, and want you and Maurice Dore to help. Be at the bank at 1 o’clock tonight, and put on an old suit of clothes, for you will have plenty of hard work to do.” Dore and myself met by appointment shortly after midnight. We were utterly mystified. Together we tramped through the deserted, dimly lighted streets. It seemed just like old times--the time we boarded the Chapman to become privateers. We found Ralston at the bank with one of its trusty officials, still alive and prominent in San Francisco. The financier was in high spirits, but counseled caution. We walked noiselessly to the United States Sub-Treasury, then located on Montgomery between Sacramento and California streets, where the Selby offices afterward stood. A dim light was burning within. Mr. Ralston asked us to halt a few paces from the entrance; then to our great surprise he opened the door of the Sub-Treasury, without challenge of any kind, and closed it after him as he stepped inside. Presently he emerged with several sacks of coin. “Take that to the bank,” he said. “The gentleman there will give you something to bring back.” The party at the bank received the cash, tallied it and handed us gold bars for the same value. These we took to the Sub-Treasury, where we found Mr. Ralston smilingly awaiting us with a new cargo of sacks on the sidewalk. We turned over the bars and made another journey to the bank. Thus, at dead of night, passing to and fro, we transferred in actual weight, between the Sub-Treasury and the bank nearly five tons of gold. We did not get quite as much as Ralston wanted, before the light began to break. It was a heart-breaking job from a physical standpoint. I was young and athletic and stood my end of it in good shape. But Maurice Dore was of sedentary habit, soft as mush, and he was on the verge of collapse. He was nearly chest foundered and had a swayback appearance for a month. During all this time, not a person passed to interrupt us. This was doubtless due to a prearrangement with the policeman on the beat.