Fortunately the news had spread slowly, so that the crowd was not large; but it was augmented by a couple of score of the blackguards of the place, hungry-eyed, moist of lip, and ready for any excuse to leap over the bank counter and begin the work of plunder.

For the first time in his life James Thickens performed that feat-- leaping over the counter to place it between himself and the clamorous mob, who saw Mr Trampleasure there and Sir Gordon Bourne in the manager's room, with the door open, and something on the table.

"Here--Here"--"Here--Me"--"No, me."

"I was first."

"No, me, Thickens."

"My money."

"My cheque."

"Change these notes."

The time was many years ago, and there were no dozen or two of county constabulary to draft into the place for its protection. Hence it was that as Thickens stood, cool and silent, before the excited crowd, Sir Gordon, calm and stern, appeared in the doorway with a couple of pistols in his left hand, one held by the b.u.t.t, the other by the barrel pa.s.sed under his thumb.

"Silence!" he cried in a quick, commanding tone.

"I am prepared--"

"Yah! No speeches. Our money! Our--"

"Silence!" roared Sir Gordon. "We are waiting to pay all demands."

"Hear, hear! Hooray!" shouted one of the farmers, who had come in hot haste, and his mottled face grew calm.

"But we can't--"

"Yah--yah!" came in a menacing yell.

"Over with you, lads!" cried a great ruffian, clapping his hands on the counter and making a spring, which the pressure behind checked and hindered, so that he only got one leg on the counter.

"Back, you ruffian!" cried Sir Gordon, taking a step forward, and, quick as lightning, presenting a pistol at the fellow's head. "You, d.i.c.k Warren, I gave you six months for stealing corn. Move an inch forward, and as I am a man I'll fire."

There was a fierce murmur, and then a pause.

The great ruffian half crouched upon the counter, crossing his eyes in his fear, and squinting crookedly down the pistol barrel, which was within a foot of his head.

"I say, gentlemen and customers, that Mr Thickens here is waiting to pay over all demands on Dixons' Bank."

"Hear, hear!" cried the farmer who had before spoken.

"But there are twenty or thirty dirty ruffians among you, and people who do not bank with us, and I must ask you to turn them out."

There was a fierce murmur here, and Sir Gordon's voice rose again high and clear.

"Mr Trampleasure, you will find the loaded firearms ready in the upper room. Go up, sir, and without hesitation shoot down the first scoundrel who dares to throw a stone at the bank."

"Yes, Sir Gordon," said Trampleasure, who dared not have fired a piece to save his life, but who gladly beat a retreat to the first-floor window, where he stood with one short blunderbuss in his hand, and Mrs Trampleasure with the other.

"Now, gentlemen," cried Sir Gordon, "I am waiting for you to clear the bank."

There was another fierce growl at this; but the mottled-faced farmer, who had ridden in on his stout cob, and who carried a hunting crop with an old-fashioned iron hammer head, spat in his fist, and turned the handle--

"Now, neighbours and friends as is customers!" he roared in a stentorian voice, "I'm ready when you are." As he spoke he caught the man half on the counter by the collar, and dragged him off.

"Here, keep your hands off me!"

"Yow want to fight, yow'd--"

"Yah! hah!"

Then a scuffling and confused growl, and one or two appeals to sticks and fists; but in five minutes every man not known as a customer of the bank was outside, and the farmers gave a cheer, which was answered by a yell from the increasing mob, a couple of dozen of whom had stooped for stones and began to flourish sticks.

But the stout farmer, who was on the steps between the two pillars that flanked the entrance, put his hand to his mouth, as if about to give a view halloo!

"Look out for the bloonder-boosh, my lads." And then, turning his head up to the window where Mr Trampleasure stood, weapon in hand, "Tak' a good aim on the front, and gie it 'em--whang! Mr Trampleasure, sir.

Thee'll scatter the sloogs fine."

Not a stone was thrown, and by this time James Thickens was busy at work cancelling with his quill pen, and counting and weighing out gold. He never offered one of Dixons' notes: silver and gold, current coin of the realm, was all he pa.s.sed over the counter, and though the customers pressed and hurried to get their cheques or notes changed, Thickens retained his coolness and went on.

At the end of a quarter of an hour the excitement was subsiding, but the bank was still full of farmers and tradespeople, the big burly man with the hunting crop being still by the counter unpaid.

All at once, after watching the paying over of the money for some time, he began hammering the mahogany counter heavily with the iron handle of his whip.

"Here, howd hard!" he roared.

Sir Gordon, who had put the pistols on the table, and was sitting on the manager's chair, coolly reading his newspaper in full view, laid it down, and rose to come to the open gla.s.s door.

"Ay, that's right, Sir Gordon. I want a word wi' thee. I'm not a man to go on wi' fullishness; but bra.s.s is bra.s.s, and a hard thing to get howd on. Now, look ye here. Howd hard, neighbours, I hevn't got much to saya."

"What is it, Mr Anderson?" said Sir Gordon calmly.

"Why, this much, Sir Gordon and neighbours. Friend o' mine comes out o'

the town this morning and says, `If thou'st got any bra.s.s i' Dixons'

Bank, run and get it, lad, for Maester Hallam's bo'ted, and bank's boosted oop.' Now, Sir Gordon, it don't look as if bank hev boosted oop."

"Oh, no," said Sir Gordon, smiling.

"Hev Maester Hallam bo'ted, then, or is that a lie too?"

"I am sorry to say that Mr Hallam has been arrested on a charge of fraud."

"That be true, then?" said the farmer. "Well, now, look here, Sir Gordon; I've banked wi' you over twanty year, and I can't afford to lose my bra.s.s. Tween man and man, is my money safe?"

"Perfectly, Mr Anderson."