CHAPTER IVTHE MORNING OF THE PARTY
“Yes, I hope it will rain,” Herbert said to himself as he went tearing along the road towards home.
Just why he wished it to rain he did not know, except to spite somebody—his father, perhaps, who was so unreasonably bitter against the Greys, “the very nicest people in town, while Louie was certainly the prettiest girl, and would cast in the shade anyone, whether from Springfield or Worcester or Boston,” and he wanted Fred Lansing to see her. It was a decided shame that she was not coming. Yes, he hoped it would rain so hard nobody would come.
It did not rain, but there was a shower in the night, which laid the dust and made the morning fresher and more delightful.
“Just the time for a drive,” the judge said to his guests after breakfast was over. “We want to get away from this clatter, with things generally upside down and Susan so rattled she don’t know what she is about.”
A part of the waiters from Worcester had cometo look over the premises and make suggestions, and they were already in the kitchen and butler’s pantry and rousing the ire of the cook and housemaids with their criticisms. A florist was there with his assistants, and the rooms were full of palms and flowers and potted plants. Crash was being laid down for the dancing on a very broad and long piazza, which was screened from public view by wide awnings, which could be rolled up if the night proved hot, as it bade fair to do. At one end of the piazza the orchestra was to sit, and the piano had to be moved into its place, with chairs and rugs and divans for the lookers-on.
In the grounds preparations were making for the band which was to play between the dances. Chinese lanterns were being suspended in fanciful lines from the trees and from the house to the entrance of the grounds, and everywhere were the hurry and bustle attending preparations for a large entertainment, both outdoors and in. Not accustomed to giving companies, Mrs. White was threatened with a nervous headache, and was in a state of wild excitement, giving the most contradictory orders and bewildering her assistants generally. Taken as a whole, the house was topsy-turvy, with sixteen people at work, and none of them seemingly level-headed except Fred Lansing, who, if allowed to do it, would have brought order out of confusion, so quiet and systematic were all his plans and movements.But the judge insisted upon taking him for a drive, saying they would go to the bank first, as he wanted to see his cashier, who had sent him a note early that morning, telling him that Godfrey Sheldon, a farmer, who lived in the country and was his heaviest depositor, had told him the night before that he was coming the next day to draw out his five thousand dollars.
“Of course, we can stand a great deal more than that,” the cashier wrote, “but wouldn’t it be safe to ask Sheldon to leave a part for a day or two, until we receive that loan due to-morrow?”
“No, sir!” the judge said, as he read the note. “I’ll never ask any man to wait for a dollar. My bank asking time! I’d laugh. Let Sheldon have his money. He is an old curmudgeon, anyway, and has to be handled with gloves. I wonder if he was invited to our party. It is like him to take a miff if he isn’t; he feels himself of so much importance because he was sent to the Legislature one winter and had Hon. before his name. Susan, where are you?”
Susan came with a big white apron on, her mouth full of pins and a ball of twine in her hands.
“Susan, were the Godfrey Sheldons invited?”
“Godfrey Sheldons—who are they?” Mrs. White replied, spitting the pins from her mouth.
“Why, that red-headed chap in the country who went to the Legislature and thinks he knows allcreation; biggest depositor in my bank, with two red-headed girls like himself. You must know ’em. They sit three pews from us in church, across the aisle, and wear infernal big hats, while he reads the loudest of anybody, as if the Lord was deaf, and looks round to see who is listening to him. You must know him.”
Mrs. White did remember the big hats and the pompous man, who read scarcely louder than her husband. “But I have no acquaintance with them,” she said. “I believe Herbert did suggest that they be invited, with a lot of others, who went into the waste basket. I asked the Gibsons from the Corners. Their son was in Yale with Fred, and their daughter has been to Vassar, but I didn’t suppose you wanted all the country people invited who deposit with you, or I would have taken your bank list.”
“Of course not,” the judge replied. “That would have included Nancy Sharp and a lot more like her. Maybe that is what ails Sheldon, who is drawing all his money at one lick, five thousand dollars, without giving us notice. Not that it will burst the bank, but it looks queer when he has always been so friendly with me.”
There was a call for Mrs. White, and she hurried away, giving no more thought to Godfrey Sheldon and his red-headed daughters.
The carriage was at the door by this time, andthe judge, with his sister, Miss Percy, and Fred Lansing, were soon driving in the direction of the bank. As they turned into a cross street they passed Louie, resting on her wheel and talking with a young man, also on a wheel, who seemed to have come from the opposite direction, and was evidently telling something which excited them both. As the carriage came up their voices dropped, but Fred Lansing was sure he caught the word “bank,” and remembered afterward the peculiar look both gave to the judge.
“That’s an awfully pretty girl,” Fred said to Miss Percy. “A Miss Grey, isn’t it?” and he turned to the judge, who answered, rather coldly:
“I didn’t notice particularly. There is a Grey girl in town some people think pretty. She is generally on the street—quite a gadder. She is Tom Grey’s daughter. He is running a little one-horse bank beside mine. But he can’t hold out, with no capital that anybody knows of. I gave him six months when he started, and he’s been at it four years, but he’ll come to the end of his rope. Yes, sir! you’ll see. Hallo! what under the heavens are those women running like that for? Is there a fire?” he added, as on passing a corner he saw several women running rapidly in the direction of Main Street, headed by Nancy Sharp, the washerwoman from White’s Row, a part of whose small savings were deposited in his bank, and who workedfor his wife at intervals by way of paying her rent.
Two of the women had on sun-bonnets, but Nancy was bareheaded, with her sleeves rolled up and her big apron on, showing she had just come from her washtub.
“What has happened?” he continued, as a woman came from another door and ran bareheaded down the street, where she was joined by three more, all evidently greatly excited, and talking loudly as they ran.
They had now reached a point from which they could see the white marble walls of his bank in the distance. In front of it quite a crowd was gathered, while it seemed to be the point toward which the women were running. David, the coachman, called the judge’s attention to it, and the latter was standing up to look when Louie Grey darted by on her wheel.
“Hallo, girl! what’s your name? Louisa, ain’t it? What’s up? What’s that mob about? Stop, can’t you?” the judge called, with a feeling that Louie was bound for the mob, and could tell him what it meant.
His voice was like a trumpet, and the “Louisa” reached Louie, who turned quickly, and, coming back to meet the carriage, replied in some surprise, “Why, it’s a run on the bank. Don’t you know? Haven’t you heard?”
With a slight inclination of her head to the ladies and to Fred Lansing, who had lifted his hat, she was off like the wind, while the judge sank down upon the seat, and, rubbing his fat hands complacently together, said:
“A run on Grey’s bank! I told you so. I knew he couldn’t go on much longer. No, sir! He’s come to the end of his rope; speculated a little too often. I knew he would. Drive faster, Dave; I want to get there.”
Dave touched the spirited blacks, which sprang forward at so rapid a rate that they came near running into a van full of household goods before it could turn aside.
“Hallo, there, Dave! Stop a minute,” the judge said to the driver, who pulled up suddenly. Then to the truckman, whom he knew, the judge continued, “I say, Pete, when did the run on Grey’s Bank begin, and what started it?”
There was a look of immense surprise on Peter’s face as he stared at the judge for a moment; then a broad grin spread over his features as he replied:
“For the Lord’s sake, jedge, don’t you know ’tain’t Grey’s Bank the runs on. Hain’t you heard? It’s your’n, and looks as if they meant to clean you out, and I guess they’ll do it, too, if you hain’t a pile on hand. The whole town is up in arms. See ’em runnin’ like ants when their nest is broke up.”
He was not a depositor, and he did not like the judge, and with another grin, he chirruped to his horses and passed on, while the judge fell back in his seat again, gasping for breath and pulling at his collar as if it were too tight and choked him.