CHAPTER XXXVII

"GIVE US OUR SAVINGS!"

As he left the bank Sherman cast over in his mind with desperate swiftness the list of men to whom he could go for financial support. Turner, Lucas & Co. had loaned Captain Folsom $25,000 on his two late ventures, the Metropolitan Theatre and the Tehama House. Both, under normal conditions, would have made their promoter rich. But nothing was at par these days.

Sherman wondered uneasily whether Folsom could help. He was not a man to save money, and the banker, who made it his business to know what borrowers of the bank's money did, knew that Folsom liked gambling, frequented places where the stakes ran high. Of late he had met heavy losses. However, he was a big man, Sherman reasoned; he should have large resources. Both of them were former army officers. That should prove a bond between them. At Captain Folsom's house an old negro servant opened the door, his wrinkled black face anxious.

"Mars Joe, he ain't right well dis evenin'," he said, evasively, but when Sherman persisted he was ushered into a back room where sat the redoubtable captain, all the fierceness of his burnside whiskers, the austerity of his West Point manner, melted in the indignity of sneezes and wheezes.

Sherman looked at him in frank dismay.

"Heavens, man," he said, "I'm sorry to intrude on you in this condition ... but my errand won't wait...."

"What do you want, Bill Sherman?" the sick man glowered.

"Money," Sherman answered crisply. "You know, perhaps, that Page, Bacon & Co. have failed. Everyone's afraid of his deposits. We've got to have cash tomorrow. How about your--?"

With a cry of irritation Folsom threw up his hands. "Money! God Almighty! Sherman, there's not a loose dollar in town. My agent, Van Winkle, has walked his legs off, talked himself hoarse.... He can't get anything. It's impossible."

"Then you can do nothing?"

For answer Folsom broke into a torrent of sneezes and coughs. The old negro came running. Sherman shook his head and left the room.

There remained Major Hammond, collector of the port, two of whose notes the bank held.

He and Sherman were not over-friendly; yet Hammond must be asked. Sherman made his way to the customs house briskly, stated his business to the doorkeeper and sat down in an anteroom to await Hammond's pleasure. There he cooled his heels for a considerable period before he was summoned to an inner office.

"Well, Sherman," he asked, not ungraciously, "what can I do for you?"

"You can take up one of your notes with our bank," replied Sherman, without ado. "We need cash desperately."

"'Fraid of a run, eh?"

"Not afraid, no. But preparing for it."

The other nodded his approval. "Quite right! quite right!" he said with unexpected warmth.... "So you'd like me to cash one of my notes, Mr. Sherman?"

"Why, yes, sir, if it wouldn't inconvenience you," the banker answered, "it would aid us greatly." He looked into the collector's keen, inquiring eyes, then added: "I may as well say quite frankly, Mr. Hammond, you're our last resort."

"Then why"--the other's smile was whimsical--"then why not both of my notes?"

[Illustration: There sat the redoubtable captain, all the ... austerity of his West Point manner melted in the indignity of sneezes and wheezes.... "Money! God Almighty! Sherman, there's not a loose dollar in town."]

"Do you mean it?" Sherman asked breathlessly.

By way of answer Hammond drew a book of printed forms toward him. Calmly, leisurely, he wrote several lines; tore a long, narrow strip from the book and handed it to Sherman.

"Here's my check for $40,000 on the United States Treasurer. He will cash it in gold. Never mind, don't thank me, this is purely business. I know what's up, young man. I can't see your people go under. Good day!"

* * * * *

Ten o'clock on the following morning. Hundreds of people lined up before the doors of San Francisco banks. Men of all classes; top-hatted merchants rubbed elbows with red-shirted miners, Irish laborers smoking clay pipes, Mexican vaqueros, roustabouts from the docks, gamblers, bartenders, lawyers, doctors, politicians. Here and there one saw women with children in their arms or holding them by the hand. They pressed shoulder to shoulder. Those at the head had their noses almost against the glass. Inside of the counting houses men with pale, harried faces stood behind their grilled iron wickets, wondering how long the pile of silver and gold within their reach would stay that clamorous human tide. Doors swung back and it swept in, a great wave, almost overturning the janitors.

The cashier and assistant manager of Lucas & Co. watched nervously, the former now and then running his fingers through his sparse hair; the assistant manager at intervals retired to a back room where he consulted a decanter and a tall glass. Frequently he summoned the bookkeeper. "How's the money lasting?" he would inquire almost in a whisper, and the other answered, "Still holding out."

But now the assistant manager saw that the cash on hand was almost exhausted. He was afraid to ask the bookkeeper any more questions.

"Where the devil's Sherman?" he snapped at the cashier. That official started. "Why--er--how should I know?... He was hunting Major Snyder this morning. He had a check from Hammond, the collector of the port."

"Damnation!" cried the assistant manager. "Sherman ought to be here. He ought to talk to these people. They think he's skipped."

He broke off hurriedly as the assistant teller came up trembling. "We'll have to close in ten minutes," he said. "There's less than $500 left." His mouth twitched. "I don't know what we'll do, sir, when the time comes ... and God only knows what they'll do."

"Good God! what's that?"

Some new commotion was apparent at the entrance of the bank. The assistant teller grasped his pistol. The line of waiting men and women turned, for the moment forgetting their quest. William Sherman, attended by two armed constables, entered the door. Between them the trio carried two large canvas bags, each bearing the imprint of the United States Treasury.

Sherman halted just inside the door.

"Forty thousand in gold, boys," he cried, "and plenty more where it came from. Turner, Lucas & Co. honors every draft."

His face pressed eagerly against the lattice of the paying teller's cage stood a little Frenchman. His hat had fallen from his pomaded hair; his waxed moustache bristled.

"Do you mean you have ze monnaie? All ze monnaie zat we wish?" he asked gesticulating excitedly with his hands.

"Sure," returned the teller. Sherman and his aids were carrying the two sacks into the back of the cage, depositing them on a marble shelf. "See!" The teller turned one over and a tinkling flood of shining golden disks poured forth.

"Ah, bon! bon!" shrieked the little Frenchman, dancing up and down upon his high-heeled boots. "If you have ze monnaie, zen I do not want heem." He broke out of the line, happily humming a chanson. Half a dozen people laughed.

"That's what I say," shouted other voices. "We don't want our money if it's safe."

##