When Egypt Went Broke | Page 9

it.
He determined to do something that he had not attempted since he had
beaued Hittie; he set himself to compose a few verses for a
valentine--verses that would pave the way for a formal declaration of
his love and his hopes.
The determination indicated that Mr. Britt was having a severe run of a
second attack of the same malady, and he acknowledged that much to
himself as he sat there and chewed the soggy end of an extinguished
cigar and gazed aloft raptly, seeking rhymes.
He made slow progress; his pen trailed as sluggishly as a tracking
snail--a word at a time. He lost all notion of how the hours were
slipping past.
A man walked in. He was Stickney, a cattle buyer, and a minor
stockholder in the bank. Mr. Britt, his eyes filmy with prolonged
abstraction, hooked his chin over his shoulder and scowled on the
intruder; a man bringing business into that office that day was an
intruder, according to Mr. Britt's opinion.
Stickney walked close to the desk and displayed a flash of curiosity
when Britt laid his forearm over his writing.
"Spring pome, or only a novel?" queried Stickney, genially, figuring
that such a question was the height of humor when put to a man of
Tasper Britt's flinty, practical nature.
Mr. Britt, like a person touched smartly by a brad, twitched himself in
his chair and asked in chilly tone what he could do for Stickney. The
caller promptly became considerable of an icicle himself. He laid down
a little sheaf of papers beside the shielding forearm.
"If you'll O. K. them notes for discount, I'll be much obliged, and won't
take up valuable time."
"We're tightening up on discounts--calling in many loans, too," stated
President Britt, with financial frigidity.

"I know all about your calling loans, Mr. Britt. Much obliged. It makes
a crackerjack market for me in the cattle business. They've got to raise
money, and I'm setting my own prices." Stickney thawed and beamed
on Britt with a show of fraternal spirit, as if the banker were a
co-conspirator in the job of shaking down the public. "However, my
notes there are all good butchers' paper--sound as a pennyroyal hymn!
I've got to have the cash so as to steal more cattle while the market is as
it is."
Britt pushed away the notes and seized the opportunity to turn his own
papers upside down on the desk. "We can't accommodate you at
present, Stickney."
The customer stepped back and propped his palms on his hips. "I
reckon I've got to call for an explanation."
"We're not in the habit of explaining the details of our business to
individuals."
Stickney slipped the leash on his indignation. "'We,' say you? All right!
'We' it is. I'm in on that 'we.' I'm a stockholder in the bank. What sort of
investments are 'we' making that have caused money to be so tight here
that a regular customer is turned down--and after enough loans have
been called to make the vault bulge?"
"The report will show," returned Britt, coldly. "I am not called on to
issue that report in installments every time a stockholder turns in here."
The especial stockholder stepped forward and tapped his finger on the
desk. "I don't say that you are. But now that this subject is opened up--"
"The subject is closed, Stickney."
"Now that the subject is opened up," insisted the other man, "I'll make
mention of what you probably know--that I have regular business 'most
every day down in Levant at the railroad terminus. And I'm knowing to
it that regular shipments of specie have been coming to the bank. If that
specie is in our vaults it ain't sweating off more gold and silver, is it, or

drawing interest? I know you're a shrewd operator, Britt. I ain't
doubting but what your plans may be good."
"They are!" President Britt's retort was crisp.
"But when those plans put a crimp into /my/ plans--and me a steady
customer--I'm opening my mouth to ask questions."
"You--and all other stockholders--will be fully informed by the annual
report--and will be pleased." Britt's air was one of finality.
"Let me tell you that the mouth I have opened to ask questions will stay
open in regard to hoarding that specie where it ain't drawing interest."
Britt jumped up and shook his fist under Stickney's snub nose. "Don't
you dare to go blabbing around the country! You might as well set off a
bomb under our bank as to circulate news that will attract robbers."
"Bomb? Britt, I'm safe when I'm handled right, but if I'm handled
wrong--" Stickney did not finish his sentence; but his truculent air was
pregnant with suggestion.
"Do you think you can blackmail me or this bank