A BANK GONE.
"Was there much of a sensation there when you left B--- this morning?"
said the manager of a leading daily to me as I was comfortably seated in
his pleasant room in the fine group of buildings known to all the world
as the printing and publishing offices of _The West Anglian Daily_, where
I had gone in search of a little cash, which, happily, I obtained.
"None at all," said I, in utter ignorance of what he was driving at.
"None at all; no one knew I was leaving," and I smiled as if I had said
something good.
"No, I did not mean that," said the manager. "It seems you have not
heard the news. Brown and Co. have suspended payment. We have just had
a telegram to that effect," which he handed me to read. "Do you bank
there?" he asked.
"Upon my word," I said, "I don't know. I never read the name of the
firm; I only know that I pay a small sum in monthly, and write a few
cheques as occasion requires."
"You're a pretty fellow," said the manager.
"Now I come to think of it," said I, "that must be my bank, as there is
no other in the place, except a small branch which has just been opened
within the last few months by Burney and Co."
"Well, I am sorry for you," said my friend.
"Oh, it don't matter much to me," I replied, with a vain attempt at a
smile. Yet I was terribly annoyed, nevertheless. I had let my deposit
increase more than was my general habit, thinking as Christmas was coming
I would postpone settling little accounts till after the festivities of
the Christmas season were over. I was now lamenting I had done anything
of the kind. I was not very happy. Our little town of B--- is a rising
place, where people come and spend a lot of money in the summer. Some
spirited individual or other is always putting up new buildings.
Speculation is rife, and the tradesmen hope to grow prosperous as the
place prospers. Anybody with half-a-crown in his pocket to spare is
hardly ever seen. They all bank at Brown's. I daresay such of them as
are able overdraw. Private bankers who are anxious to do business offer
great facilities in this respect; but still there are many, chiefly poor
widows and sailors who make a little money in the summer, and they bank
it all. We have a church that is about to be enlarged, and the money
that has been raised for the purpose was placed in the bank, and we have
a few retired officers and tradesmen who have their money there. "They
ha' got 300 pounds of my money," said an angry farmer, as he banged away
at the closed door, on which a notice was suspended that, in consequence
of temporary difficulties, the bank had stopped payment for a few days.
"You might ha' given a fellow the hint to take out his money," said
another irritated individual to the manager, whom persistent knocking had
brought to the door. I was sorry for the manager; he always wore a smile
on his face. That smile had vanished as the last rose of summer. No one
in B--- was more upset than he was when the catastrophe occurred. Some
of the knowing ones in town had smelt a rat; one or two depositors had
drawn out very heavily. Our smiling manager had no conception of what
was to happen till, just as he was sitting down to his breakfast, with
his smiling wife and ruddy, fat-cheeked little ones, there came to him a
telegram from headquarters to the effect that he was not to open,
followed by a messenger with despatches of which he was as ignorant as
the merest ploughboy. I must say that in the headquarters the secret was
well kept, whatever the leakage elsewhere.
Coming back to B---, the bright little town seemed sitting in the shadow
of death. "Any news?" said I to the station-master as I got out of the
train. "Only that the bank is broke," was the reply. "Ah! that won't
matter to you," said one to me, "your friends will help you." In vain I
repeated that I had no friends. "Ah, well," said another, "you can work;
it is the old, the infirm, the sick, who are past work, for whom I am
sorry." And thus I am left to sleep off my losses as best I may, trying
to believe that the difficulty is only temporary, and positively assured
in some quarters that the bank will open all right next day. Alas! hope
tells a flattering tale. Next morning, after a decent interval, to show
that, like Dogberry, I am used to losses, I take my morning walk and
casually pass the bank, only to see that the door is as firmly closed as
ever; I read all the morning papers, and they tell me that the bank will
be opened as usual at ten. I know better, and all I meet are sorrowing.
One melancholy depositor, who tells me that the bank has all the money he
has taken this summer and his pension besides, assures me that the bank
will open at twelve. I pass two hours later, and it is still shut.
Women are weeping as they see ruin staring them in the face. Woe to me;
my butcher calls for his little account. I have to ask him to call
again. I see the tax-gatherer eyeing me from afar, likewise the
shoemaker; but I rush inside to find that the midday mail has arrived,
bringing me a letter from town, as follows: "With respect to your cheque
on Brown's Bank, received yesterday, I regret to hear this day of the
suspension of the bank. Under these circumstances your cheque will not
be cleared, so that we shall have to debit your account with it." This
is pleasant. I have another cheque sent by the same post as the other.
I begin to fear on that account. Happily, no more letters of that kind
come in, and I take another turn in the open air. Every one looks grave.
There are little knots of men standing like conspirators in every street.
They are trying to comfort one another. "Oh, it will be all right," I
hear them exclaim; but they look as if they did not believe what they
said, and felt it was all wrong. Now and then one steals away towards
the bank, but the door is still shut, and he comes back gloomier-looking
than ever. I am growing sad myself. I have not seen a smile or heard a
pleasant word to-day, except from my neighbour, who chuckles over the
fact that his account is overdrawn. He laughs on the other side of his
mouth, however, when he realises the fact that he has cheques he has not
sent in. Another day comes, and I know my fate. Some banks have agreed
to come to the rescue. They will pay all bank-notes in full, and will
make advances not exceeding 15s. in the pound in respect of credit
accounts as may be necessary. Happily, our little town is safe. Another
day or two of this strain on our credit must have thrown us all into a
general smash. This is good as far as it goes, but I fail to see why the
holder of one of Brown's banknotes is to have his money in full, while I
am to accept a reduction of five shillings in the pound or more.
However, I have no alternative. I would not mind the reduction if my
friends the creditors would accept a similar reduction in their little
accounts. Alas! it is no use making such a proposal to them; I must grin
and bear it. One consolation is that my wife--bless her!--is away
holiday-making and does not need to ask me for cash. On the third day we
begin to fear that we may not get ten shillings in the pound, and the
post brings me back another cheque with a modest request for cash by
return. All over the country there is weeping and wailing. One would
bear it better a month hence. Christmas is coming! Already the bells
are preparing to ring it in. I must put on the conventional smile.
Christmas cards are coming in, wishing me a Merry Christmas and a Happy
New Year! and, oh dear! I must say, Thank you! Alas! alas! troubles are
like babies--the more you nurse them, the bigger they grow.
And now it is time for me to make my bow and retire. Having said that my
bank was smashed up, I cannot expect any one to be subsequently
interested in my proceedings. We live in a commercial country and a
commercial age, and the men whom the society journals reverence are the
men who have made large fortunes, either by their own industry and
forethought and self-denial, or by the devil's aid. And I am inclined to
think that he has a good deal to do with the matter. If ever we are to
have plain living and high thinking, we shall have to give up this
wonderful worship of worldly wealth and show. Douglas Jerrold makes one
of his heroes exclaim, "Every man has within him a bit of a swindler."
When Madame Roland died on the scaffold, whither she had been led by the
so-called champions of liberty and equality and the rights of man, she
exclaimed, as every school-boy knows, or ought to know, "Oh, Liberty,
what crimes are done in thy name!" So say I, Oh, wealth, which means
peace and happiness, and health and joy (Sydney Smith used to say that he
felt happier for every extra guinea he had in his pocket, and most of us
can testify the same), what crimes are done in thy name; not alone in the
starvation of the poor, in the underpaying of the wage-earning class who
help to make it, but in the way in which sharks and company promoters
seek to defraud the few who have saved money of all their store. You
recollect Douglas Jerrold makes the hero already referred to say, "You
recollect Glass, the retired merchant? What an excellent man was Glass!
A pattern man to make a whole generation by. What could surpass him in
what is called honesty, rectitude, moral propriety, and other gibberish?
Well, Glass grows a beard. He becomes one of a community, and
immediately the latent feeling (swindling) asserts itself." And the
worst of it is that Glass as a company director and promoter is
worshipped as a great man, especially if he secures a gratuitous
advertisement by liberality in religious and philanthropic circles, and
exercises a lavish liberality in the way of balls and dinners. Society
crawls at his feet as they used to do when poor Hudson, the ex-draper of
York, reigned a few years in splendour as the Railway King. Glass goes
everywhere, gets into Parliament. Rather dishonest, a sham and a fraud
as he is, we make him an idol, and then scorn far-away savages who make
idols of sticks and stones.
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_W. Speaight & Sons_, _Printers_, _Fetter Lane_, _London_.