“I'll tell you, Mr. Walton--now wait one minute, just one minute,” Lassiter urged: “you know how excitable depositors are. Don't you see if the report goes out that you have actually turned Fred over to the law for a big defalcation that folks will get the impression that you are in a shaky condition? The other bank would make it appear ten times as bad as it is, and we might have a frightful run on us. We are all right, solid enough, the Lord knows, but money--_ready_ money--is hard to get. There never has been a time when it would be as hard to stand under a run as right now. We are getting ahead of the other bank, and they are as mad as Tucker. They wouldn't want anything better than a chance like this to--” “You mean?--great God, Toby, you are right! It would ruin us--absolutely wreck us! I see it--I see it as plain as day!” There was a sound of heavy steps in the corridor outside. “It is the sheriff,” Toby whispered, “but I didn't tell him what you wanted. Don't act now, Mr. Walton; for God's sake, don't!” “Tell him to wait a minute,” the banker panted. But it was too late; the sheriff, with his usual lack of ceremony, was already pushing the door open. “Hello, old man!” Johnston said, and he came in with a swinging stride. “I hope you are not scared about what I owe you; I'll get it up all right. Money is owing to me, and--” “No, it wasn't that--it wasn't that.” Walton's rigid face was forced into a smile that fairly distorted it and set the observant officer wondering. “The truth is, Johnston, I thought I needed your services, but I find I'm mistaken. That's all, Johnston, I was mistaken. I've decided to let it pass--to let it pass, you know.” “All right, old man,” the sheriff replied, as his puzzled glance swept the two disturbed faces before him. “I don't care just so you don't garnishee my salary for what I owe you.” Outside, as he joined a group of idlers on the corner, he remarked, with a broad, knowing smile and a twinkle of the eye: “That old note-shaver in there thinks he can fool me. He sent Toby Lassiter out just now as white as a preacher's Sunday shirt to ask me to see him. I found him looking like a staring idiot, and was informed that it was a false alarm. False nothing! I'll give you boys a tip. I'll bet that gay and festive Fred is up to some fresh devilment. You watch out and you'll hear something drop, if I am any judge. I saw Fred last night headed for the railroad. He didn't see me. I was hiding behind a fence, watching him. I think he boarded a freight-train; I am not sure.” CHAPTER IX