CHAPTER XXXVI

FEVERS OF FINANCE

Four years had passed since the Vigilance Committee ceased active labors. Some said they preserved a tacit organization; theirs was still a name to conjure with among evil doers, but San Francisco, grown into a city of some 50,000, was more dignified and subtle in its wickedness. Politics continued notoriously bad. Comedians in the new Metropolitan Theatre made jokes about ballot-boxes said to have false bottoms, and public officials who had taken their degrees in "political economy" at Sing Sing.

"Honest Harry" Meiggs and his brother, the newly-elected City Controller, had sailed away on the yacht "American," leaving behind them an unpaid-for 2000-foot wharf and close to a million in debts; forged city warrants and promissory notes were held by practically every large business house in San Francisco.

It was concerning this urbane and gifted prince of swindlers that Adrian Stanley talked with William Sherman, manager of the banking house of Turner, Lucas & Company.

Sherman, once a lieutenant in the United States Army, had returned, after an Eastern trip, as a civilian financier. In behalf of St. Louis employers, he had purchased of James Lick a lot at Jackson and Montgomery streets, erecting thereon a $50,000 fire-proof building. The bank occupied the lower floor; a number of professional men had their offices on the second floor; on the third James P. Casey, Supervisor, journalist and politician, maintained the offices of _The Sunday Times_. He passed the two men as they stood in front of the bank and shouted a boisterous "hello." Adrian, ever courteous and good-natured, responded with a wave of the hand while Sherman, brusk and curt, as a habit of nature and military training, vouchsafed him a short nod.

"I have small use for that fellow," he remarked to Stanley, "even less than I had for Meiggs." The other had something impressive about him, something almost Napoleonic, in spite of his dishonesty. If business had maintained the upward trend of '51 and '52, Meiggs would have been a millionaire and people would have honored him--"

"You never trusted 'Honest Harry,' did you?" Stanley asked.

"No," said Sherman, "not for the amount he asked. I was the only banker here that didn't break his neck to give the fellow credit. I rather liked him, though. But this fellow upstairs," he snapped his fingers, "some day I shall order him out of my building."

"Why?" asked Adrian curiously. "Because of his--"

"His alleged prison record?" Sherman finished. "No. For many a good man's served his term." He shrugged. "I can't just tell you why I feel like that toward Jim Casey. He's no worse than the rest of his clan; the city government's rotten straight through except for a few honest judges and they're helpless before the quibbles and intricacies of law." He took the long black cigar from his mouth and regarded Adrian with his curious concentration--that force of purpose which was one day to list William Tecumseh Sherman among the world's great generals. "There's going to be the devil to pay, my young friend," he said, frowning, "between corruption, sectional feuds and business depression ..."

"What about the report that Page, Bacon & Company's St. Louis house has failed?" said Stanley in an undertone. Sherman eyed him sharply. "Where'd you hear that?" he shot back. And then, ere Adrian could answer, he inquired, "Have you much on deposit there?"

"Ten thousand," replied the young contractor.

For a moment Sherman remained silent, twisting the long cigar about between grim lips. Then he put a hand abruptly on the other's shoulder. "Take it out," he said, "today."

* * * * *

Somewhat later Sherman was summoned to a conference with Henry Haight, manager of the banking house in question, and young Page of the Sacramento branch. He emerged with a clouded brow, puffing furiously at his cigar. As he passed through the bank, Sherman noted an unusual line of men, interspersed with an occasional woman, waiting their turn for the paying teller's service. The man was counting out gold and silver feverishly. There was whispering among the file of waiters. To him the thing had an ominous look.

He stopped for a moment at the bank of Adams & Company. There also the number of people withdrawing deposits was unusual; the receiving teller's window was neglected. James King of William, who, since the closing of his own bank, had been Adams & Company's manager, came forward and drew Sherman aside. "What do you think of the prospect?" he asked. "Few of us can stand a run. We're perfectly solvent, but if this excitement spreads it means ruin for the house--for every bank in town perhaps."

"Haight's drunk," said Sherman tersely. "Page is silly with fear. I went over to help them ... but it's no use. They're gone."

King's bearded face was pale, but his eyes were steady. "I'm sorry," he said, "that makes it harder for us all." He smiled mirthlessly. "You're better off than we ... with our country branches. If anything goes wrong here, our agents will be blamed. There may be bloodshed even." He held out his hand and Sherman gripped it. "Good luck," the latter said, "we'll stand together, far as possible."

As Sherman left the second counting house, he noted how the line had grown before the paying teller's window. It extended now outside the door. At Palmer, Cook & Company's and Naglee's banks it was the same. The human queue, which issued from the doors of Page, Bacon & Company, now reached around the corner. It was growing turbulent. Women tried to force themselves between the close-packed file and were repelled. One of these was Sherman's washwoman. She clutched his coat-tails as he hurried by.

"My God, sir!" she wailed, "they've my money; the savings of years. And now they say it's gone ... that Haight's gambled ... spent it on women ..."

Sherman tried to quiet her and was beset by others. "How's your bank?" people shouted at him. "How's Lucas-Turner?"

"Sound as a dollar," he told them; "come and get your money when you please; it's there waiting for you."

But his heart was heavy with foreboding as he entered his own bank. Here the line was somewhat shorter than at most of the others, but still sufficiently long to cause dismay. Sherman passed behind the counter and conferred with his assistant.

"We close in half an hour--at three o'clock," he said. "That will give us a breathing spell. Tomorrow comes the test. By then the town will know of Page-Bacon's failure ..."

He beckoned to the head accountant, who came hurriedly, a quill pen bobbing behind his ear, his tall figure bent from stooping over ledgers.

"How much will we require to withstand a day's run?" Sherman flung the question at him like a thunderbolt. And almost as though the impact of some verbal missile had deprived him of speech, the man stopped, stammering.

"I--I--I think, s-s-sir," he gulped and recovered himself with an effort, "f-forty thousand will do it."

Swiftly Sherman turned toward the door. "Where are you going?" the assistant called.

"To get forty thousand dollars--if I have to turn highwayman," Sherman flung over his shoulder.

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