Panic-stricken were the faces at which the cashier looked up from his half-finished letter--faces that communicated their panic to all who saw them. The cashier caught it in a moment: he glanced hastily round as if seeking for a way of escape. The men and women, perceiving that he had lost his head, became wilder in their attempts to get opposite his desk. Outside, the crowd, striving to reach the doors of the bank, had become clamorous. The High Street of Brackenhurst was in an uproar. The two clerks had ceased to discuss the great coffee question. They were thinking of their revolvers. As the panic-stricken cashier stood looking vacantly into the pale faces before him, but making no effort to attend to the three men who waved their cheques across the counter, Mr. Westwood came out of his room by the side of his solicitor. He was smiling as he shook hands and said goodbye. There was an instantaneous silence in the place. “We shall see you at the cricket match on Saturday,” were the words that came through the silence from Mr. Westwood, as he shook hands with the other man. “If the weather continues like this it will be a batsman's day.” He waved his hand as the solicitor went out into the crowd. The crowd that had been almost clamorous a minute before were now breathless with astonishment. They stared at the man who, when ruin was in the air, was talking of cricket. A batsman's day! A batsman's day! What did it mean? What manner of man was this who could talk quietly of a batsman's day when over his head the sword of Damocles was hanging? The silence was unnatural; it became terrifying. Every one watched Mr. Westwood as he walked round to where the cashier was standing. He paid no attention to the clerk, but glancing across the counter, nodded pleasantly to one of the men who had been waving the cheques, like pink flags, in the direction of the desk. “Good day, Mr. Simons,” said he. “What a dry spell we are having. They talk of the good old-fashioned summers--how is it you are not being attended to?” He turned to the cashier. “Come, Mr. Calmour, if you please; I fear I must ask you to stir yourself; it's likely to be a busy day. You want a cheque cashed, Mr. Simons? Certainly. You also have your cheque, Mr. Thorburn, and you, Mrs. Langley?” “We want our money, sir,” said Mrs. Langley. She was a tall, bony lady, who had been the first to enter the bank. She was the principal of the Ladies' Collegiate School. “So I understand, my dear lady,” said Mr. Westwood. “You shall have every penny of your money.”