Hardly able to believe what he heard, Mr. Crosby stared at his informant. "Wha--what's that you said?" he asked. "I said the bank at Rossmore failed yesterday, and that none of the depositors will get a cent. If you had your money there it's all gone." "Gone! Failed! I--I don't understand." "Well, it's just as I'm telling you. The cashier skipped off with the money." "With my money?" "With everybody's money. But I got ahead of them. I heard the bank was shaky and I drew out every cent I had there a couple of days ago. You see, the cashier took the cash about a week back, but he concealed his theft. Then, when the bank officials discovered it, they kept it quiet for a time, hoping to make it up. But, it seems, one of the vice-presidents was in with the cashier, and what the fellow didn't steal the vice-president had used in bad speculations, so the bank's wrecked." "And my money's gone," repeated Mr. Crosby, in a dazed voice. "I'm afraid so." "What's happened? What's the matter, Enos?" asked Mrs. Crosby, who came out on the porch where Mr. Jimson was. She had not heard all he said, but she gathered that there was some trouble. "We're ruined, Debby!" exclaimed the farmer. "All our money in the bank is gone!" "Gone?" "Yes, the bank has failed. I'm sorry, Mr. Jimson, but I can't pay you the interest," went on Mr. Crosby. "I intended going to Rossmore to-day to get it for you. Now I can't." "I don't know about that," replied the holder of the mortgage on the Crosby farm. "I don't see what the failure of the bank has to do with you not paying me my interest." "Why, I can't pay it if there isn't any money in the bank." "I have nothing to do with that. I loaned you a certain sum on this farm. You signed a paper agreeing to pay me my interest at a certain time. That time has come and I want my money." "But I can't pay you if the bank has failed." "I tell you that has nothing to do with me!" exclaimed Mr. Jimson angrily. "I want my money--that's all. How am I to know you had the interest in the bank?" "But I tell you I did!" "Humph! A man's word isn't good for much nowadays. I want my interest, and I intend to have it." "I'm very sorry, Mr. Jimson," said Mr. Crosby in a strained voice, "but I haven't got it." "Then you'll have to get it. Take it from some other bank." "Do I look like a man who had money in two banks?" demanded the poor farmer. "I guess not! It takes all I can rake and scrape to make a living and pay the interest. I put the money for the mortgage in the bank where it would be safe. I didn't know the bank would fail." "Well, you'll have to get it somewhere," went on the mortgage holder. "Sell some of your things, or--or something." "I haven't much left to sell--unless I sell myself, and I'm pretty much of a slave the way it is." "Huh! Any man who can afford to send his sons out West on a pleasure trip ought to have the money to pay his interest," retorted Mr. Jimson.