WUNPOST HAS A BAD DREAM
It is dangerous to start rumors against even the soundest of banks,
because our present-day finance is no more than a house of cards built
precariously on Public Confidence. No bank can pay interest, or even do
business, if it keeps all its money in the vaults; and yet in times of
panic, if a run ever starts, every depositor comes clamoring for his
money. Public confidence is shaken--and the house of cards falls,
carrying with it the fortunes of all. The depositors lose their money,
the bankers lose their money; and thousands of other people in nowise
connected with it are ruined by the failure of one bank. Hence the
committee of Blackwater citizens, with blood in their eye, which called
on John C. Calhoun.
Since the loss of his mine Wunpost had turned ugly and morose; and his
remarks about Eells, and especially about his bank, were nicely
calculated to get under the rind. He was waiting for the committee,
right in front of the bank; and the moment they began to talk he began
to orate, and to denounce them and everything else in Blackwater. What
was intended as a call-down of an envious and destructive agitator
threatened momentarily to turn into a riot and, hearing his own good
name brought into question, Judson Eells stepped quickly out and
challenged his bold traducer.
"W'y, sure I said it!" answered Wunpost hotly, "and I don't mind saying
it again. Your bank is all a fake, like your danged tin front; and
you've got everything in your vault except money."
"Well, now, Mr. Calhoun," returned Judson Eells waspishly, "I'm going to
challenge that statement, right now. What authority have you got for
suggesting that my cash is less than the law requires?"
"Well," began Wunpost, "of course I don't _know_, but----"
"No, of course you don't know!" replied Eells with a smile, "and
everybody knows you don't know; but your remarks are actionable and if
you don't shut up and go away I'll instruct my attorney to sue you."
"Oh, 'shut up,' eh?" repeated Wunpost after the crowd had had its laugh;
"you think I'm a blow-hard, eh? You all do, don't you? Well, I'll tell
you what I'll do." He paused impressively, reached down into several
pockets and pointed a finger at Eells. "I'll bet you," he said, "that
I've got more money in my clothes than you have in your whole danged
bank--and if you can prove any different I'll acknowledge I'm wrong by
depositing my roll in your bank. Now--that's fair enough, ain't it?"
He nodded and leered knowingly at the gaping crowd as Eells began to
temporize and hedge.
"I'm a blow-hard, am I?" he shouted uproariously; "my remarks are
actionable, are they? Well, if I should go into court and tell half of
what I know there'd be _two_ men on their way to the Pen!" He
pointed two fingers at Eells and Phillip Lapham and the banker saw a
change in the crowd. Public confidence was wavering, the cold fingers of
doubt were clutching at the hearts of his depositors--but behind it all
he sensed a trap. It was not by accident that Wunpost was on his corner
when the committee of citizens came by; and this bet of his was no
accident either, but part of some carefully laid scheme. The question
was--how much money did Wunpost have? If, unknown to them, he had found
access to large sums and had come there with the money on his person,
then the acceptance of his bet would simply result in a farce and make
the bank a byword and a mocking. If it could be said on the street that
one disreputable prospector had more money in his clothes than the bank,
then public confidence would receive a shrewd blow indeed, which might
lead to disastrous results. But the murmur of doubt was growing, Wunpost
was ranting like a demagogue--the time for a show-down had come.
"Very well!" shouted Eells, and as the crowd began to cheer the
committee adjourned to the bank. Eells strode in behind the counter and
threw the vault doors open, his cashier and Lapham made the count, and
when Wunpost was permitted to see the cash himself his face fell and he
fumbled in his pockets.
"You win," he announced, and while all Blackwater whooped and capered he
deposited his roll in the bank. It was a fabulously big roll--over forty
thousand dollars in five hundred and thousand dollar bills--but he
deposited it all without saying a word and went out to buy the drinks.
"That's all right," he said, "the drinks are on me. But I wanted to know
that that money was _safe_ before I went in and put it in the
bank."
It was a great triumph for Eells and a great boost for his bank, and he
insisted in the end upon shaking hands with Wunpost and assuring him
there was no hard feeling. Wunpost took it all grimly, for he claimed to
be a sport, but he saddled up soon after and departed for the hills,
leaving Blackwater delirious with joy. So old Wunpost had been stung and
called again by the redoubtable Judson Eells, and the bank had been
proved to be perfectly sound and a credit to the community it served! It
made pretty good reading for the _Blackwater Blade_, which had
recently been established in their midst, and the committee of boosters
ordered a thousand extra copies and sent them all over the country. That
was real mining stuff, and every dollar of Wunpost's money had been dug
from the Sockdolager Mine. Eells set to work immediately to build him a
road and to order the supplies and machinery, and as the development
work was pushed towards completion John C. Calhoun was almost forgotten.
He was gone, that was all they knew, and if he never came back it would
be soon enough for Eells.
But there was one who still watched for the prodigal's return and longed
ardently for his coming, for Wilhelmina Campbell still remembered with
regret the days when their ranch had been his goal. No matter where he
had been, or what desperate errand took him once more into the hills, he
had headed for their ranch like a homing pigeon that longs to join its
mates. The portal of her tunnel had been their trysting place, where he
had boasted and raged and denounced all his enemies and promised to
return with their scalps. But that was just his way, and it was harmless
after all, and wonderfully exciting and amusing; but now the ranch was
dead, except for the gang of road-makers who came by from their camp up
the canyon.
For her father at last had consented to build the road, since Wunpost
had disclaimed all title to the mine; but now it was his daughter who
looked on with a heavy heart, convinced that the money was accursed. She
had stolen it, she knew, from the man who had been her lover and who had
trusted her as no one else; only Wunpost was too proud to make any
protest or even acknowledge he had been wronged. He had accepted his
loss with the grim stoicism of a gambler and gone out again into the
hills, and the only thought that rose up to comfort her was that he had
deposited all his money in the bank. Every dollar, so they said; and
when he had bought his supplies the store-keeper had had to write out
his check! But anyway he was safe, for now everybody knew that he had no
money on his person; and when he came back he might stop at the ranch
and she could tell him about the road.
It was being built by contract, and more solidly than ever, and already
it was through the gorge and well up the canyon towards Panamint and the
Homestake Mine. And the mud and rocks that the cloudburst had deposited
had been dug out and cleared away from their trees; the ditch had been
enlarged, her garden restored and everything left tidy and clean. But
something was lacking and, try as she would, she failed to feel the
least thrill of joy. Their poverty had been hard, and the waiting and
disappointments; but even if the Homestake Mine turned out to be a
world-beater she would always feel that somehow it was _his_. But
when Wunpost came back he did not stop at the ranch--she saw him passing
by on the trail.
He rode in hot haste, heading grimly for Blackwater, and when he spurred
down the main street the crowd set up a yell, for they had learned to
watch for him now. When Wunpost came to town there was sure to be
something doing, something big that called for the drinks; and all the
pocket-miners and saloon bums were there, lined up to see him come in.
But whether he had made a strike in his lucky way or was back for
another bout with Eells was more than any man could say.
"Hello, there!" hailed a friend, or pseudo-friend, stepping out to make
him stop at the saloon, "hold on, what's biting you now?"
"Can't stop," announced Wunpost, spurring on towards the bank, "by grab,
I've had a bad dream!"
"A dream, eh?" echoed the friend, and then the crowd laughed and
followed on up to the bank. Since Wunpost had lost in his bet with Eells
and deposited all his money in the bank he was looked upon almost with
pride as a picturesque asset of the town. He made talk, and that was
made into publicity, and publicity helped the town. And now this mad
prank upon which he seemed bent gave promise of even greater renown. So
he had had a bad dream? That piqued their curiosity, but they were not
kept long in doubt. Dismounting at the bank, he glanced up at the front
and then made a plunge through the bank.
"Gimme my money!" he demanded, bringing his fist down with a bang and
making a grab for a check. "Gimme all of it--every danged cent!"
He started to write and threw the pen to the floor as it sputtered and
ruined his handiwork.
"Why, what's the matter, Mr. Calhoun?" cried Eells in astonishment, as
the crowd came piling in.
"Gimme a pen!" commanded Wunpost, and, having seized the cashier's, he
began laboriously to write. "There!" he said, shoving the check through
the wicket; and then he stood waiting, expectant.
The cashier glanced at the check and passed it back to Eells, who had
hastened behind the grille, and then they looked at each other in alarm.
"Why--er--this check," began Eells, "calls for forty-two thousand, eight
hundred and fifty-two dollars. Do you want all that money now?"
"W'y, sure!" shrilled Wunpost, "didn't I tell you I wanted it?"
"Well, it's rather unusual," went on Judson Eells lamely, and then he
spoke in an aside to his cashier.
"No! None of that, now!" burst out Wunpost in a fury, "don't you frame
up any monkey-business on me! I want my money, see? And I want it right
now! Dig up, or I'll wreck the whole dump!"
He brought his hand down again and Judson Eells retired while the
cashier began to count out the bills.
"Here!" objected Wunpost, "I don't want all that small stuff--where's
those thousand dollar bills I turned in? They're _gone_? Well, for
cripes' sake, did you think they were a _present_?"
The clerk started to explain, but Wunpost would not listen to him.
"You're a bunch of crooks!" he burst out indignantly. "I only deposited
that money on a bet! And here you turn loose and spend the whole roll,
and start to pay me back in fives and tens."
"No, but Mr. Calhoun," broke in Judson Eells impatiently, "you don't
understand how banking is done."
"Yes I do!" yelled back Wunpost, "but, by grab, I had a dream, and I
dreamt that your danged bank was _broke_! Now gimme my money, and
give it to me quick or I'll come in there and git it myself!"
He waited, grim and watchful, and they counted out the bills while he
nodded and stuffed them into his shirt. And then they brought out gold
in government-stamped sacks and he dropped them between his feet. But
the gold was not enough, and while Eells stood pale and silent the clerk
dragged out the silver from the vault. Wunpost took them one by one, the
great thousand dollar sacks, and added them to the pile at his feet, and
still his demand was unsatisfied.
"Well, I'm sorry," said Eells, "but that's all we have. And I consider
this very unfair."
"Unfair!" yelled Wunpost. "W'y, you doggone thief, you've robbed me of
two thousand dollars. But that's all right," he added; "it shows my
dream was true. And now your tin bank _is_ broke!"
He turned to the crowd, which looked on in stunned silence, and tucked
in his money-stuffed shirt.
"So I'm a blow-hard, am I?" he inquired sarcastically, and no one said a
word.