"I'm a blow-hard, am I?" he shouted uproariously; "my remarks are actionable, are they? Well, if I should go into court and tell half of what I know there'd be _two_ men on their way to the Pen!" He pointed two fingers at Eells and Phillip Lapham and the banker saw a change in the crowd. Public confidence was wavering, the cold fingers of doubt were clutching at the hearts of his depositors--but behind it all he sensed a trap. It was not by accident that Wunpost was on his corner when the committee of citizens came by; and this bet of his was no accident either, but part of some carefully laid scheme. The question was--how much money did Wunpost have? If, unknown to them, he had found access to large sums and had come there with the money on his person, then the acceptance of his bet would simply result in a farce and make the bank a byword and a mocking. If it could be said on the street that one disreputable prospector had more money in his clothes than the bank, then public confidence would receive a shrewd blow indeed, which might lead to disastrous results. But the murmur of doubt was growing, Wunpost was ranting like a demagogue--the time for a show-down had come. "Very well!" shouted Eells, and as the crowd began to cheer the committee adjourned to the bank. Eells strode in behind the counter and threw the vault doors open, his cashier and Lapham made the count, and when Wunpost was permitted to see the cash himself his face fell and he fumbled in his pockets. "You win," he announced, and while all Blackwater whooped and capered he deposited his roll in the bank. It was a fabulously big roll--over forty thousand dollars in five hundred and thousand dollar bills--but he deposited it all without saying a word and went out to buy the drinks. "That's all right," he said, "the drinks are on me. But I wanted to know that that money was _safe_ before I went in and put it in the bank."