In ordinary times, news is slow to make its way to the ears of the great. Protected from the vulgar by his deer park, looking out from the stillness of his tall-windowed library on his plantations1 and his ornamental2 water, Sir Charles Woosenham was removed by six miles of fine champaign country from the common fret3 and fume4 of Aldersbury. He no longer maintained, as his forefathers5 had maintained, a house in the town, and in all likelihood he would not have heard the talk about the bank, or caught the alarm in time, if one of his neighbors had not made it his business to arouse him.
Acherley, baffled in his attempt at blackmail6, and thirsting for revenge, had bethought him of the Chairman of the Valleys Railroad. He had been quick to see that he could use him, and perhaps he had even fancied that it was his duty to use him. At any rate, one fine morning, some days before this eventful Wednesday, he had mounted his old hunter, Nimrod, and had cantered across country by gaps and gates from Acherley to Woosenham Park. He had entered by a hunting wicket, and leaping the ha-ha, he had presented himself to Sir Charles ten minutes after the latter had left the breakfast table, and withdrawn7 himself after his fashion of a morning, into a dignified9 seclusion10.
Alas11, two minutes of Acherley's conversation proved enough to destroy the baronet's complacency for the day. Acherley blurted12 out his news, neither sparing oaths nor mincing13 matters. "Ovington's going!" he declared. "He's bust-up--smashed, man!" And striking the table with a violence that made his host wince14, "He's bust-up, I tell you," he repeated, "and I think you ought to know it! There's ten thousand of the Company's money in his hands, and if there's nothing done, it will be lost to a penny!"
Sir Charles stared, stared aghast. "You don't say so?" he exclaimed. "I can't believe it!"
"Well, it's true! True, man, true, as you'll soon find out!"
"But this is terrible! Terrible!"
Acherley shrugged15 his shoulders. "It'll be terrible for him," he sneered16.
"But--but what can we do?" the other asked, recovering from his surprise. "If it is as bad as you say----"
"Bad? And do, man? Why, get the money out! Get it out before it is too late--if it isn't too late already. You must draw it out, Woosenham! At once! This morning! Without the delay of a minute!"
"I!" Sir Charles could not conceal17 the unhappiness which the proposal caused him. No proposal, indeed, could have been less to his taste. He would have to make up his mind, he would have to act, he would have to set himself against others, he would have to engage in a vulgar struggle. A long vista18 of misery19 and discomfort20 opened before him. "I? Oh, but--" and with the ingenuity21 of a weak man he snatched at the first formal difficulty that occurred to him--"but I can't draw it out! It needs another signature besides mine."
"The Secretary's? Bourdillon's? Of course it does! But you must get his signature. D--n it, man, you must get it. If I were you I should go into town this minute. I wouldn't lose an hour!"
Sir Charles winced22 afresh at the idea of taking action so strong. He had not only a great distaste for any violent step, but he had also the feelings of a gentleman. To take on himself such a responsibility as was now suggested was bad; but to confront Ovington, who had gained considerable influence over him, and to tell the banker to his face that he distrusted his stability--good heavens, was it possible that such horrors could be asked of him? Flustered23 and dismayed, he went back to his original standpoint. "But--but there may be nothing in this," he objected weakly. "Possibly nothing at all. Mere24 gossip, my dear sir," with dignity. "In that case we might be putting ourselves in the wrong--very much in the wrong."
Acherley did not take the trouble to hide his contempt. "Nothing in it?" he replied, and he tossed off a second glass of the famous Woosenham cherry-brandy which the butler, unbidden, had placed beside him. "Nothing in it, man? You'll find there's the devil in it unless you act! Enough in it to ease us of ten thousand pounds! If the bank fails, and I'll go bail25 it will, not a penny of that money will you see again! And I tell you fair, the shareholders26 will look to you, Woosenham, to make it good. I'm not responsible. I've no authority to sign, and the others are just tools of that man Ovington, and afraid to call their souls their own! You're Chairman--you're Chairman, and, by G--d, they'll look to you if the money is left in the bank and lost!"
Sir Charles quailed27. This was worse and worse! Worse and worse! He dropped the air of carelessness which he had affected28 to assume, and no more flustered man than he looked out on the world that day over a white lawn stock or wore a dark blue coat with gilt29 buttons, and drab kerseymeres with Hessians. But, again, true to his instincts, he grasped at a matter of form, hoping desperately30 that it might save him from the precipice31 towards which his friend was so vigorously pushing him. "But--my good man," he argued, "I can't draw out the money--the whole of the capital of the concern, so far as it is subscribed--on my own responsibility! Of course I can't!" wiping the perspiration32 from his brow. "Of course I can't!" peevishly33. "I must have the authority of the Board first. We must call a meeting of the Board. That's the proper procedure."
Acherley rose to his feet, openly contemptuous. "Oh, hang your meeting!" he said. "And give a seven days' notice, eh? If you are going to stand on those P's and Q's I've said my say. The money's lost already! However, that's not my business, and I've warned you. I've warned you. You'll not forget that, Woosenham? You'll exonerate34 me, at any rate."
"But I can't--God bless my soul, Acherley," the poor man remonstrated35, "I can't act like that in a moment!" And Sir Charles stared aghast at his too violent associate, who had brought into the calm of his life so rude a blast of the outer air. "I can't override36 all the formalities! I can't, indeed, even if it is as serious as you say it is--and I can hardly believe that--with such a man as Ovington at the helm!"
"You'll soon see how serious it is!" the other retorted. And satisfied that he had laid the train, he shrugged his shoulders, tossed off a third glass of the famous cherry-brandy, and took himself off without much ceremony.
He left a flustered, nervous, unhappy man behind him. "Good G--d!" the baronet muttered, as he rose and paced his library, all the peace and pleasantness of his life shattered. "What's to be done? And why--why in the world did I ever put my hand to this matter!" One by one and plainly all the difficulties of the position rose before him, the awkwardness and the risk. He must open the thing to Bourdillon--in itself a delicate matter--and obtain his signature. If he got that, he doubted if he had even then power to draw the whole amount in this way, and doubted, too, whether Ovington would surrender it, no meeting of the Board having been held? And if he obtained the money, what was he to do with it? Pay it into Dean's? But if things were as bad as Acherley said, was even Dean's safe? For, of a certainty, if he removed the money to Dean's and it were lost, he would be responsible for every penny--every penny of it! There was no doubt about that.
Yet if he left it at Ovington's and it were lost, what then? It was not his custom to drink of a morning, but his perturbation was so great that he took a glass of the cherry-brandy. He really needed it.
He could not tell what to do. In every direction he saw some doubt or some difficulty arise to harass38 him. He was no man of business. In all matters connected with the Company he had leant on Ovington, and deprived of his stay, he wavered, turning like a weathercock in the wind, making no progress.
For two days, though terribly uneasy in his mind, he halted between two opinions. He did nothing. Then tidings began to come to his ears, low murmurs40 of the storm which was raging afar off; and he wrote to Bourdillon asking him to come out and see him--he thought that he could broach41 the matter more easily on his own ground. But two days elapsed, during which he received no answer, and in the meantime the warnings that reached him grew louder and more disquieting42. His valet let drop a discreet43 word while shaving him. A neighbor hoped that he had nothing in Ovington's--things were in a bad way, he heard. His butler asked leave to go to town to cash a note. Gradually he was wrought44 up to such a pitch of uneasiness that he could not sleep for thinking of the ten thousand pounds, and the things that would be said of him, and the figure that he would cut if, after Acherley's warning, the money were lost. When Wednesday morning came, he made up his mind to take advice, and he could think of no one on whose wisdom he could depend more surely than on the old Squire45's at Garth; though, to be sure, to apply to him was, considering his attitude towards the Railroad, to eat humble46 pie.
Still, he made up his mind to that course, and at eleven he took my lady's landau and postillions, and started on his sixteen-mile drive to Garth. He avoided the town, though it lay only a little out of his way, but he saw enough of the unusual concourse on the road to add to his alarm. Once, nervous and fidgety, he was on the point of giving the order to turn the horses' heads for Aldersbury--he would go direct to the bank and see Ovington! But before he spoke47 he changed his mind again, and half-past twelve saw him wheeling off the main road and cantering, with some pomp and much cracking of whips, up the rough ascent48 that led to Garth.
He was so far in luck that he found the Squire not only at home, but standing49 before the door, a gaunt, stooping figure, leaning on his stick, with Calamy at his elbow. "Who is it?" the old man asked, as he caught the sound of galloping50 hoofs51 and the roll of the wheels. He turned his sightless eyes in the direction of the approaching carriage.
"I think it's Sir Charles, sir," Calamy answered. "It's his jackets."
"Ay! Well, I won't go in, unless need be. Go you to the stables and bid 'em wait."
Sir Charles alighted, and bidding the postillions draw off, greeted his host. "I want your advice, Squire," he said, putting his arm through the old man's, and, after a few ceremonial words he drew him a few paces from the door. It was a clear, mild day, and the sun was shining pleasantly. "I'm in a position of difficulty, Griffin," he said. "You'll tell me, I know, that I've only myself to thank for it, and perhaps that is so. But that does not mend matters. The position, you see, is this." And with many apologies and some shamefacedness he explained the situation.
The Squire listened with gloomy looks, and, beyond grunting52 from time to time in a manner far from cheering, he did not interrupt his visitor. "Of course, I ought not to have touched the matter," the baronet confessed, when he had finished his story. "I know what you think about that, Griffin."
"Of course you ought not!" The Squire struck his stick on the gravel53. "I warned you, man, and you wouldn't take the warning. You wouldn't listen to me. Why, damme, Woosenham, if we do these things, if we once begin to go on 'Change' and sell and buy, where'll you draw the line? Where'll you draw the line? How are you going to shut out the tinkers and tailors and Brummagem and Manchester men when you make yourselves no better than them! How? By Jove, you may as well give 'em all votes at once, and in ten years' time we shall have bagmen on the Bench and Jews in the House! Aldshire--we've kept up the fence pretty well in Aldshire, and kept our hands pretty clean, too, and it's been my pride and my father's to belong to this County. We're pure blood here. We've kept ourselves to ourselves, begad! But once begin this kind of thing----"
"I know, Griffin, I know," Woosenham admitted meekly54. "You were right and I was wrong, Squire. But the thing is done, and what am I to do now? If I stand by and this money is lost----"
"Ay, ay! You'll have dropped us all into a pretty scalding pot, then!"
"Just so, just so." The baronet had pleaded guilty, but he was growing restive55 under the other's scolding, and he plucked up spirit. "Granted. But, after all, your nephew's in the concern, Griffin. He's in it, too, you know, and----"
He stopped, shocked by the effect of his words. For the old man had withdrawn his arm and had stepped back, trembling in all his limbs. "Not with my good will!" he cried, and he struck his stick with violence on the ground. "Never! never!" he repeated, passionately56. "But you are right," bitterly, "you are right, Woosenham. The taint37 is in the air, the taint of the City and the 'Change, and we cannot escape it even here--even here in this house! In the concern? Ay, he is! And I tell you I wish to heaven that he had been in his grave first!"
The other, a kindly57 man, was seriously concerned. "Oh. come, Squire," he said; and he took the old man affectionately by the arm again. "It's no such matter as all that. You make too much of it. He's young, and the younger generation look at these things differently. After all, there's more to be said for him than for me."
The Squire groaned58.
"And, anyway, my old friend," Woosenham continued gently, "advise me. Time presses." He looked at his watch. "What shall I do? What had I better do? I know I am safe in your hands."
The Squire sighed, but the other's confidence was soothing59, and with the sigh he put off his own trouble. He reflected, his face turned to the ground at his feet. "Do you think him honest?" he asked, after a pause.
"Who? Ovington?"
"Ay," gloomily. "Ovington? The banker there."
"Well, I do think he is. Yes, I do think so. I've no reason to think otherwise."
"He's a director, ain't he?"
"Of the Railroad? Yes."
"Responsible as you are?"
"Yes, I suppose he is!"
"A kind of trustee, then, ain't he--for the shareholders."
Sir Charles had not seen it in that light before. He looked at his adviser60 with growing respect. "Well, I take it he is--now you mention it, Griffin," he said.
"Then"--this, it was plain, was the verdict, and the other listened with all his ears--"if he is honest, he'll not have mixed the money with his own. He'll not have put it to an ordinary account, but to a Trust account--so that it will remain the property of the Company, and not be liable to calls on him. That's what he should have done, anyway. Whether he has done it or not is another matter. He's pressed, hard pressed, I hear, and I don't know that we can expect the last spit of honesty from such as him. It's not what I've been brought up to expect. But," with a return of his former bitterness, "we may be changing places with 'em even in that! God knows! And I do know something that gives me to believe that he may behave as he should."
"You do?" Sir Charles exclaimed, his spirits rising. "You do think so?"
"Well, I do," reluctantly. "I'll speak as I know. But if I were you I should go to him now and tell him, as one man to another, that that's what you expect; and if he hangs back, tell him plain that if that money's not put aside he'll have to answer to the law for it. Whether that will frighten him or not," the Squire concluded, "I'm not lawyer enough to say. But you'll learn his mind."
"I'll go in at once," Sir Charles replied, thankfully.
"I'm going in myself. If you'll take me in--you've four horses--it will save time, and my people shall fetch me out in an hour or so."
Sir Charles assented61 with gratitude62, thankful for his support; and Calamy was summoned. Two minutes later they got away from the door in a splutter of flying gravel and dead beech63 leaves. They clattered64 down the stony65 avenue, over the bridge, and into the high road.
Probably of all those--and they were many--who travelled that day with their faces set towards the bank, they were the last to start. If Tuesday had been the town's day, this was certainly the country's day. For one thing, there was a market; for another, the news of something amiss, of something that threatened the little hoard66 of each--the slowly-garnered deposit or the hardly-won note--had journeyed by this time far and wide. It had reached alike the remote flannel-mill lapped in the folds of the border-hills, and the secluded67 hamlet buried amid orchards68, and traceable on the landscape only by the grey tower of its church. On foot and on horse-back, riding and tying, in gigs and ass-carts, in market vans and carriers' carts, the countryside came in--all who had anything to lose, and many who had nothing at stake, but were moved by a vague alarm. Even before daybreak the roads had begun to echo the sound of their marching. They came by the East Bridge, laboring69 up the steep, winding70 Cop; by the West Bridge and under the gabled fronts of Maerdol, along the river bank, before the house of the old sea-dog whose name was a household word, and whose portrait hung behind the mayor's chair, and so up the Foregate--from every quarter they came. Before ten the streets were teeming71 with country-folk, whose fears were not allayed72 by the news that all through the previous day the townsfolk had been drawing their money. Sullen73 tradesmen, victims of the general depression, eyed the march from their shop doors, and some, fearing trouble, put up half their shutters74. More took a malicious75 amusement in telling the rustics76 that they were too late, and that the bank would not open.
The alarm was heightened by a chance word which had fallen from Frederick Welsh. The lawyer's last thought had been to do harm, for his interest in common with all substantial men lay the other way. But that morning, before he had dressed, or so much as shaved, his office and even his dining-room had been invaded. Scared clients had overwhelmed him with questions--some that he could answer and more that he could not. He could tell them the law as to their securities, whether they were lodged77 for safety, or pawned78 for loans, or mortgaged on general account. But he could not tell them whether Ovington was solvent79, or whether the bank would open, or whether Dean's was affected; and it was for answers to these questions that they clamored. In the end, badgered out of all patience, he had delivered a curt80 lecture on banking81.
"Look here, gentlemen," he had said, imposing82 silence from his hearth-rug and pressing his points with wagging forefinger83, "do you know what happens when you pay a thousand pounds into a bank? No, you don't? Well, I'll tell you. They put a hundred pounds into the till, and they lend out four thousand pounds on the strength of the other nine hundred. If they lend more than that, or lend that without security, they go beyond legitimate84 banking. Now you know as much as I do. A banker's money is out on bills payable85 in two months or four, it's out on the security of shares and farms and shop-stock, it's lent on securities that cannot be realized in five minutes. But it's all there, mark me, somewhere, in something, gentlemen; and I tell you candidly86 that it's my opinion that if you would all go home and wait for your money till you need it, you'd all get it in full, twenty shillings in the pound."
He meant no harm, but unfortunately the men who heard the lecture paid no heed87 to the latter part, but went out, impressed with the former, and spread it broad-cast. On which some cried, "That's banking, is it! Shameful88, I call it!" while others said, "Well, I call it robbery! The old tea-pot for me after this!" A few were for moving off at once and breaking Ovington's windows, and going on to Dean's and serving them the same. But they were restrained, things had not quite come to that; and it was an orderly if excited throng89 that once more waited on Bride Hill and in the Market Place for the opening of the doors.
Not all who gathered there had anything to lose. Many were mere onlookers90. But here and there were to be seen compressed lips, pale faces, anxious eyes. Here and there women gripped books in feverish91 fingers or squeezed handkerchiefs into tight balls; and now and again a man broke into bad words and muttered what he would do if they robbed him. There were country shopkeepers who had lodged the money to meet the traveller's account, and trembled for its safety. There were girls who saw their hard-earned portions at stake, and parsons whose hearts ached as they thought of the invalid92 wife or the boy's school-bill; and there were at least a score who knew that if the blow fell the bailiff, never far from the threshold, would be in the house. Before the eyes of not a few rose the spectres of the poorhouse and a pauper93 funeral.
Standing in groups or dotted amid the crowd were bigger men--wool-brokers and cattle-dealers--men loud in bar-parlors and great among their fellows, whose rubicund95 faces showed flabby and mottled, and whose fleshy lips moved in endless calculations. How was this bill to be met, and who would renew that one? Too often the end of their calculations spelled ruin--if the bank failed. Ruin--and many were they who depended on these big men: wage-earners, clerks, creditors96, poor relations! One man walking up and down under the arcade97 of the Market House was the centre for many eyes. He was an auctioneer from a neighboring town, a man of wide dealings, who, it was whispered, had lodged with Ovington's the proceeds of his last great sale--a sum running into thousands and due every penny to the vendor98.
His case and other hard cases were whispered by one to another, and, bruited99 about, they roused the passions even of those who were not involved. Yet when the bank at length opened on the stroke of ten an odd thing happened. A sigh, swelling100 to a murmur39, rose from the dense101 crowd, but no one moved. The expected came as the unexpected, there was a moment of suspense102, of waiting. No one advanced. Then some one raised a shout and there was a rush for the entrance; men struggled and women were thrust aside, smaller men were borne in on the arms of their fellows. A wail103 rose from the unsuccessful, but no man heeded104 it, or waited for his neighbor, or looked aside to see who it was who strove and thrust and struggled at his elbow. They pushed in tumultuously, their country boots drumming on the boards. Their entrance was like the inrush of an invading army.
The clerks, the cashier, Ovington himself, stood at the counter waiting motionless to receive them, confronting them with what courage they might. But the strain of the preceding day had told. The clerks could not conceal their misgivings105, and even Rodd failed to bear himself with the chilling air which had yesterday abashed106 the modest. He shot vindictive107 glances across the counter, his will was still good to wither108, but the crowd was to-day made up of rougher material, was more brusque and less subservient109. They cared nothing for him, and he looked, in spite of his efforts, weary and dispirited. There was no longer any pretence110 that things were normal or that the bank was not face to face with a crisis. The gloves were off. They were no longer banker and customers. They were enemies.
It was Ovington himself who this morning stood forward, and in a few cold words informed his friends that they would all be paid, requesting them at the same time to be good enough to keep order and await their turns, otherwise it would be impossible to proceed with the business. He added a single sentence, in which he expressed his regret that those who had known him so long should doubt, as he could only suppose that they did doubt, his ability to meet his engagements.
It was well done, with calmness and dignity, but as he ceased to speak--his appearance had for the moment imposed silence--a disturbance111 broke out near the door. A man thrust himself in. Ovington, already in the act of turning, recognized the newcomer, and a keen observer might have noted112 that his face, grave before, turned a shade paler. But he met the blow. "Is that Mr. Yapp?" he asked.
It was the auctioneer from Iron Ferry. "Ay, Mr. Ovington, it is," he said, the perspiration on his face, "and you know my position."
Ovington nodded. Yapp was one of five depositors--big men--whose claims had been, for the last twenty-four hours, a nightmare to him. But he let nothing be seen, and "Kindly let Mr. Yapp pass," he said; "I will deal with him myself." Then, as one or two murmured and protested, "Gentlemen," he said sternly, "you must let me conduct my business in my own way, or I close my doors. Let Mr. Yapp pass, if you please."
They let him through then, some grumbling113, others patting him on the back--"Good luck to you, Jimmy!" cried one well-wisher. The counter was raised, and resettling his clothes about him, the auctioneer followed Mr. Ovington into the parlor94. The banker closed the door upon them.
"How much is it, Mr. Yapp?" he asked.
The man's hand shook as he drew out the receipt. "Two thousand, seven hundred and forty," he said. "I hope to God it's all right, sir?" His voice shook. "It's not my money, and to lose it would three parts ruin me."
"You need not fear," the banker assured him. "The money is here." But for a moment he did not continue. He stood, his eyes on the man's face, lost in thought. Then, "The money is here, and you can have it, Yapp," he said. "But I am going to be plain with you. You will do me the greatest possible favor if you will leave it for a few days. The bank is solvent--I give you my honor it is. No one will lose a penny by it in the end. But if this and other large sums are drawn8 to-day I may have to close for a time, and the injury to me will be very great. If you wish to make a friend who may be able to return the favor ten-fold----"
But Yapp shook his head. "I daren't do it!" he declared, the sweat springing out anew on his face. "It isn't my money and I can't leave it! I daren't do it, sir!"
Ovington saw that it was of no use to plead farther, and he changed his tone. "Very good," he said, and he forced himself to speak equably. "I quite understand. You shall have the money." Sitting down at the table he wrote the amount on a slip, and struck the bell that stood beside his desk. The younger clerk came in. He handed him the slip.
Yapp did not waver, but he remembered that good turns had been done to him in that room, and he was troubled. "If it was my money," he said awkwardly, "or if there was anything else I could do, Mr. Ovington?"
"You can," Ovington replied. He had got himself in hand, and he spoke cheerfully.
"Well----"
"You can hold your tongue, Yapp," smiling.
"It's done, sir. I won't have a tongue except to say that the money's paid. You may depend upon me."
"Thank you. I shall not forget it." The clerk brought in the money, and stayed until the sum was counted and checked and the receipt given. Then, "That's right, Mr. Yapp," the banker said, and sat back in his chair. "Show Mr. Yapp out, Williams."
Yapp followed the clerk. His appearance in the bank was greeted by half a dozen voices. "Ha' you got it?" they cried.
He was a man of his word, and he slapped his pocket briskly. "Every penny!" he said, and something like a cheer went up. "I'd not have worried, but it wasn't my money."
Ovington's appeal to him had been a forlorn hope, and much, now it had failed, did the banker regret it. But he had calculated that that twenty-seven hundred pounds might just make the difference, and he had been tempted114. Left to himself he sat, turning it over, and wondering if the auctioneer would be silent; and his face, now that the mask was off, was haggard and careworn115. He had slept little the night before, and things were working out as he had feared that they would.
Presently he heard a disturbance in the bank. Something had occurred to break the orderly course of paying out. He rose and went out, a frown on his face. He was prepared for trouble, but he found to his relief that the interruption was caused by nothing worse than his son's return.
Having given his word to Arthur to carry the money through the bank, Clement116 had sunk whatever scruples117 he felt, and had made up his mind to do it handsomely. He had driven up to the door with a flourish, had taken the gold from the chaise under the public eye, and now, with all the parade he could, he was bringing it into the bank. His brisk entrance and cheery presence, and the careless words he flung on this side and that as he pushed through the crowd, seemed in a trice to clear the air and lift the depression. Not even Arthur could have carried the thing through more easily or more flamboyantly118. And that was saying much.
"Make way! Make way, if you please, gentlemen!" he cried, his face ruddy with the sharp, wintry air. "Let me in, please! Now, if you want to be paid, you must let the money come through! Plenty of money! Plenty for all of you, gentlemen, and more where this comes from! But you must let me get by! Hallo, Rawlins, is that you? You're good at dead weights. Here, lift it! What do you make of it?" And he thrust the bag he carried into a stout119 farmer's hands.
"Well, it be pretty near fifty pund, I'd say," Rawlins replied. "Though, by gum, it don't look within a third of it, Mr. Clement."
Clement laughed. "Well done!" he said. "You're just about right. And you can say after this, Rawlins, that you've lifted fifty pound weight of gold! Now, make way, gentlemen, make way, if you please. There's more to come in! Plenty more."
He bustled120 through with the bag, greeted his father gaily121, and placed his burden on the floor beside him. Then he went back for the other bag. He made a second countryman weigh this, grinned at his face of astonishment122, then taking up the two bags he went through with his father to the parlor.
His arrival did good. The clerks perked123 up, smiled at one another, went to and fro more briskly. Rodd braced124 himself and, though he knew the truth, began to put on airs, bandied words with a client, and called contemptuously for order. And the customers looked sheepish. Gold! Gold coming in like that in bags as if 'twere common stuff. It made them think twice. A few, balancing in their minds a small possible loss against the banker's certain favor, hesitated and hung back. Two or three even went out without cashing their notes and shrugged their shoulders in the street, declaring that the whole thing was nonsense. They had been bamboozled125. They had been hoaxed126. The bank was sound enough.
But behind the parlor door things wore a different aspect.
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| n.种植园，大农场( plantation的名词复数 ) | |
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ornamental
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forefathers
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| n.讹诈，敲诈，勒索，胁迫，恫吓 | |
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7
withdrawn
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| vt.收回；使退出；vi.撤退，退出 | |
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8
drawn
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| v.拖，拉，拔出；adj.憔悴的，紧张的 | |
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9
dignified
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| a.可敬的，高贵的 | |
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10
seclusion
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| n.隐遁，隔离 | |
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11
alas
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| int.唉(表示悲伤、忧愁、恐惧等) | |
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12
blurted
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| v.突然说出，脱口而出( blurt的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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13
mincing
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| adj.矫饰的；v.切碎；切碎 | |
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14
wince
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| n.畏缩，退避，（因痛苦，苦恼等)面部肌肉抽动；v.畏缩，退缩，退避 | |
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15
shrugged
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| vt.耸肩（shrug的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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16
sneered
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| 讥笑，冷笑( sneer的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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17
conceal
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| v.隐藏，隐瞒，隐蔽 | |
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18
vista
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| n.远景，深景，展望，回想 | |
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19
misery
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| n.痛苦，苦恼，苦难；悲惨的境遇，贫苦 | |
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20
discomfort
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| n.不舒服，不安，难过，困难，不方便 | |
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21
ingenuity
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| n.别出心裁；善于发明创造 | |
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22
winced
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| 赶紧避开，畏缩( wince的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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23
flustered
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| adj.慌张的；激动不安的v.使慌乱，使不安( fluster的过去式和过去分词) | |
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24
mere
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| adj.纯粹的；仅仅，只不过 | |
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25
bail
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| v.舀（水），保释；n.保证金，保释，保释人 | |
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26
shareholders
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| n.股东( shareholder的名词复数 ) | |
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27
quailed
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| 害怕，发抖，畏缩( quail的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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28
affected
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| adj.不自然的，假装的 | |
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29
gilt
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| adj.镀金的；n.金边证券 | |
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30
desperately
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| adv.极度渴望地，绝望地，孤注一掷地 | |
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31
precipice
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| n.悬崖，危急的处境 | |
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32
perspiration
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| n.汗水；出汗 | |
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33
peevishly
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| adv．暴躁地 | |
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34
exonerate
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| v.免除责任，确定无罪 | |
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35
remonstrated
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| v.抗议( remonstrate的过去式和过去分词 )；告诫 | |
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36
override
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| vt.不顾，不理睬，否决；压倒，优先于 | |
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37
taint
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| n.污点；感染；腐坏；v.使感染；污染 | |
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38
harass
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| vt.使烦恼，折磨，骚扰 | |
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39
murmur
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| n.低语，低声的怨言；v.低语，低声而言 | |
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40
murmurs
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| n.低沉、连续而不清的声音( murmur的名词复数 )；低语声；怨言；嘀咕 | |
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41
broach
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| v.开瓶，提出(题目) | |
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42
disquieting
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| adj.令人不安的，令人不平静的v.使不安，使忧虑，使烦恼( disquiet的现在分词 ) | |
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43
discreet
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| adj.(言行)谨慎的；慎重的；有判断力的 | |
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44
wrought
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| v.引起；以…原料制作；运转；adj.制造的 | |
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45
squire
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| n.护卫, 侍从, 乡绅 | |
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46
humble
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| adj.谦卑的，恭顺的；地位低下的；v.降低，贬低 | |
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47
spoke
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| n.（车轮的）辐条；轮辐；破坏某人的计划；阻挠某人的行动 v.讲，谈（speak的过去式）；说；演说；从某种观点来说 | |
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48
ascent
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| n.(声望或地位)提高；上升，升高；登高 | |
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49
standing
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| n.持续，地位；adj.永久的，不动的，直立的，不流动的 | |
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50
galloping
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| adj. 飞驰的, 急性的 动词gallop的现在分词形式 | |
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51
hoofs
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| n.（兽的）蹄，马蹄( hoof的名词复数 )v.（兽的）蹄，马蹄( hoof的第三人称单数 ) | |
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52
grunting
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| 咕哝的，呼噜的 | |
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53
gravel
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| n.砂跞；砂砾层；结石 | |
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54
meekly
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| adv.温顺地，逆来顺受地 | |
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55
restive
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| adj.不安宁的，不安静的 | |
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56
passionately
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| ad.热烈地，激烈地 | |
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57
kindly
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| adj.和蔼的，温和的，爽快的；adv.温和地，亲切地 | |
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58
groaned
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| v.呻吟( groan的过去式和过去分词 )；发牢骚；抱怨；受苦 | |
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59
soothing
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| adj.慰藉的；使人宽心的；镇静的 | |
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60
adviser
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| n.劝告者，顾问 | |
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61
assented
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| 同意，赞成( assent的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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62
gratitude
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| adj.感激，感谢 | |
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63
beech
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| n.山毛榉；adj.山毛榉的 | |
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64
clattered
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| 发出咔哒声（clatter的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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65
stony
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| adj.石头的，多石头的，冷酷的，无情的 | |
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66
hoard
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| n./v.窖藏，贮存，囤积 | |
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67
secluded
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| adj.与世隔绝的；隐退的；偏僻的v.使隔开，使隐退( seclude的过去式和过去分词) | |
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68
orchards
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| （通常指围起来的）果园( orchard的名词复数 ) | |
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69
laboring
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| n.劳动，操劳v.努力争取(for)( labor的现在分词 )；苦干；详细分析；（指引擎）缓慢而困难地运转 | |
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70
winding
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| n.绕，缠，绕组，线圈 | |
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71
teeming
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| adj.丰富的v.充满( teem的现在分词 )；到处都是；（指水、雨等）暴降；倾注 | |
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72
allayed
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| v.减轻，缓和( allay的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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73
sullen
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| adj.愠怒的，闷闷不乐的，(天气等)阴沉的 | |
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74
shutters
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| 百叶窗( shutter的名词复数 )； （照相机的）快门 | |
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75
malicious
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| adj.有恶意的，心怀恶意的 | |
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76
rustics
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| n.有农村或村民特色的( rustic的名词复数 )；粗野的；不雅的；用粗糙的木材或树枝制作的 | |
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77
lodged
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| v.存放( lodge的过去式和过去分词 )；暂住；埋入；（权利、权威等）归属 | |
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78
pawned
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| v.典当，抵押( pawn的过去式和过去分词 )；以（某事物）担保 | |
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79
solvent
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| n.溶剂；adj.有偿付能力的 | |
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80
curt
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| adj.简短的，草率的 | |
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81
banking
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| n.银行业，银行学，金融业 | |
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82
imposing
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| adj.使人难忘的，壮丽的，堂皇的，雄伟的 | |
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83
forefinger
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| n.食指 | |
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84
legitimate
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| adj.合法的，合理的，合乎逻辑的；v.使合法 | |
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85
payable
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| adj.可付的，应付的，有利益的 | |
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86
candidly
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| adv.坦率地，直率而诚恳地 | |
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87
heed
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| v.注意，留意；n.注意，留心 | |
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88
shameful
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| adj.可耻的，不道德的 | |
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89
throng
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| n.人群，群众；v.拥挤，群集 | |
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90
onlookers
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| n.旁观者，观看者( onlooker的名词复数 ) | |
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91
feverish
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| adj.发烧的，狂热的，兴奋的 | |
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92
invalid
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| n.病人，伤残人；adj.有病的，伤残的；无效的 | |
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93
pauper
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| n.贫民，被救济者，穷人 | |
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94
parlor
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| n.店铺，营业室；会客室，客厅 | |
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95
rubicund
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| adj.(脸色)红润的 | |
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96
creditors
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| n.债权人，债主( creditor的名词复数 ) | |
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97
arcade
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| n.拱廊；(一侧或两侧有商店的)通道 | |
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98
vendor
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| n.卖主；小贩 | |
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99
bruited
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| v.传播（传说或谣言）( bruit的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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100
swelling
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| n.肿胀 | |
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101
dense
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| a.密集的，稠密的，浓密的；密度大的 | |
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102
suspense
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| n.（对可能发生的事）紧张感，担心，挂虑 | |
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103
wail
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| vt./vi.大声哀号，恸哭；呼啸，尖啸 | |
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104
heeded
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| v.听某人的劝告，听从( heed的过去式和过去分词 )；变平，使（某物）变平( flatten的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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105
misgivings
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| n.疑虑，担忧，害怕；疑虑，担心，恐惧( misgiving的名词复数 )；疑惧 | |
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106
abashed
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| adj.窘迫的，尴尬的v.使羞愧，使局促，使窘迫( abash的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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107
vindictive
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| adj.有报仇心的，怀恨的，惩罚的 | |
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108
wither
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| vt.使凋谢，使衰退，(用眼神气势等)使畏缩；vi.枯萎，衰退，消亡 | |
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109
subservient
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| adj.卑屈的，阿谀的 | |
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110
pretence
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| n.假装，作假；借口，口实；虚伪；虚饰 | |
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111
disturbance
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| n.动乱，骚动；打扰，干扰；(身心)失调 | |
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112
noted
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| adj.著名的，知名的 | |
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113
grumbling
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| adj. 喃喃鸣不平的, 出怨言的 | |
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114
tempted
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| v.怂恿（某人）干不正当的事；冒…的险（tempt的过去分词） | |
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115
careworn
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| adj.疲倦的，饱经忧患的 | |
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116
clement
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| adj.仁慈的；温和的 | |
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117
scruples
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| n.良心上的不安( scruple的名词复数 )；顾虑，顾忌v.感到于心不安，有顾忌( scruple的第三人称单数 ) | |
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118
flamboyantly
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| adv.艳丽地、奢华地、绚丽地。 | |
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120
bustled
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| 闹哄哄地忙乱，奔忙( bustle的过去式和过去分词 )； 催促 | |
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121
gaily
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| adv.欢乐地，高兴地 | |
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122
astonishment
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| n.惊奇，惊异 | |
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123
perked
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| （使）活跃( perk的过去式和过去分词 )； （使）增值； 使更有趣 | |
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124
braced
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| adj.拉牢的v.支住( brace的过去式和过去分词 )；撑牢；使自己站稳；振作起来 | |
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125
bamboozled
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| v.欺骗，使迷惑( bamboozle的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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126
hoaxed
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| v.开玩笑骗某人，戏弄某人( hoax的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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