FEVERS OF FINANCE
Four years had passed since the Vigilance Committee ceased active
labors. Some said they preserved a tacit organization; theirs was still
a name to conjure with among evil doers, but San Francisco, grown into a
city of some 50,000, was more dignified and subtle in its wickedness.
Politics continued notoriously bad. Comedians in the new Metropolitan
Theatre made jokes about ballot-boxes said to have false bottoms, and
public officials who had taken their degrees in "political economy" at
Sing Sing.
"Honest Harry" Meiggs and his brother, the newly-elected City
Controller, had sailed away on the yacht "American," leaving behind them
an unpaid-for 2000-foot wharf and close to a million in debts; forged
city warrants and promissory notes were held by practically every large
business house in San Francisco.
It was concerning this urbane and gifted prince of swindlers that Adrian
Stanley talked with William Sherman, manager of the banking house of
Turner, Lucas & Company.
Sherman, once a lieutenant in the United States Army, had returned,
after an Eastern trip, as a civilian financier. In behalf of St. Louis
employers, he had purchased of James Lick a lot at Jackson and
Montgomery streets, erecting thereon a $50,000 fire-proof building. The
bank occupied the lower floor; a number of professional men had their
offices on the second floor; on the third James P. Casey, Supervisor,
journalist and politician, maintained the offices of _The Sunday Times_.
He passed the two men as they stood in front of the bank and shouted a
boisterous "hello." Adrian, ever courteous and good-natured, responded
with a wave of the hand while Sherman, brusk and curt, as a habit of
nature and military training, vouchsafed him a short nod.
"I have small use for that fellow," he remarked to Stanley, "even less
than I had for Meiggs." The other had something impressive about him,
something almost Napoleonic, in spite of his dishonesty. If business had
maintained the upward trend of '51 and '52, Meiggs would have been a
millionaire and people would have honored him--"
"You never trusted 'Honest Harry,' did you?" Stanley asked.
"No," said Sherman, "not for the amount he asked. I was the only banker
here that didn't break his neck to give the fellow credit. I rather
liked him, though. But this fellow upstairs," he snapped his fingers,
"some day I shall order him out of my building."
"Why?" asked Adrian curiously. "Because of his--"
"His alleged prison record?" Sherman finished. "No. For many a good
man's served his term." He shrugged. "I can't just tell you why I feel
like that toward Jim Casey. He's no worse than the rest of his clan; the
city government's rotten straight through except for a few honest judges
and they're helpless before the quibbles and intricacies of law." He
took the long black cigar from his mouth and regarded Adrian with his
curious concentration--that force of purpose which was one day to list
William Tecumseh Sherman among the world's great generals. "There's
going to be the devil to pay, my young friend," he said, frowning,
"between corruption, sectional feuds and business depression ..."
"What about the report that Page, Bacon & Company's St. Louis house has
failed?" said Stanley in an undertone. Sherman eyed him sharply.
"Where'd you hear that?" he shot back. And then, ere Adrian could
answer, he inquired, "Have you much on deposit there?"
"Ten thousand," replied the young contractor.
For a moment Sherman remained silent, twisting the long cigar about
between grim lips. Then he put a hand abruptly on the other's shoulder.
"Take it out," he said, "today."
* * * * *
Somewhat later Sherman was summoned to a conference with Henry Haight,
manager of the banking house in question, and young Page of the
Sacramento branch. He emerged with a clouded brow, puffing furiously at
his cigar. As he passed through the bank, Sherman noted an unusual line
of men, interspersed with an occasional woman, waiting their turn for
the paying teller's service. The man was counting out gold and silver
feverishly. There was whispering among the file of waiters. To him the
thing had an ominous look.
He stopped for a moment at the bank of Adams & Company. There also the
number of people withdrawing deposits was unusual; the receiving
teller's window was neglected. James King of William, who, since the
closing of his own bank, had been Adams & Company's manager, came
forward and drew Sherman aside. "What do you think of the prospect?" he
asked. "Few of us can stand a run. We're perfectly solvent, but if this
excitement spreads it means ruin for the house--for every bank in
town perhaps."
"Haight's drunk," said Sherman tersely. "Page is silly with fear. I went
over to help them ... but it's no use. They're gone."
King's bearded face was pale, but his eyes were steady. "I'm sorry," he
said, "that makes it harder for us all." He smiled mirthlessly. "You're
better off than we ... with our country branches. If anything goes wrong
here, our agents will be blamed. There may be bloodshed even." He held
out his hand and Sherman gripped it. "Good luck," the latter said,
"we'll stand together, far as possible."
As Sherman left the second counting house, he noted how the line had
grown before the paying teller's window. It extended now outside the
door. At Palmer, Cook & Company's and Naglee's banks it was the same.
The human queue, which issued from the doors of Page, Bacon & Company,
now reached around the corner. It was growing turbulent. Women tried to
force themselves between the close-packed file and were repelled. One of
these was Sherman's washwoman. She clutched his coat-tails as he
hurried by.
"My God, sir!" she wailed, "they've my money; the savings of years. And
now they say it's gone ... that Haight's gambled ... spent it on
women ..."
Sherman tried to quiet her and was beset by others. "How's your bank?"
people shouted at him. "How's Lucas-Turner?"
"Sound as a dollar," he told them; "come and get your money when you
please; it's there waiting for you."
But his heart was heavy with foreboding as he entered his own bank. Here
the line was somewhat shorter than at most of the others, but still
sufficiently long to cause dismay. Sherman passed behind the counter and
conferred with his assistant.
"We close in half an hour--at three o'clock," he said. "That will give
us a breathing spell. Tomorrow comes the test. By then the town will
know of Page-Bacon's failure ..."
He beckoned to the head accountant, who came hurriedly, a quill pen
bobbing behind his ear, his tall figure bent from stooping over ledgers.
"How much will we require to withstand a day's run?" Sherman flung the
question at him like a thunderbolt. And almost as though the impact of
some verbal missile had deprived him of speech, the man stopped,
stammering.
"I--I--I think, s-s-sir," he gulped and recovered himself with an
effort, "f-forty thousand will do it."
Swiftly Sherman turned toward the door. "Where are you going?" the
assistant called.
"To get forty thousand dollars--if I have to turn highwayman," Sherman
flung over his shoulder.