LOSING THE FARM
Hardly able to believe what he heard, Mr. Crosby stared at his
informant.
"Wha--what's that you said?" he asked.
"I said the bank at Rossmore failed yesterday, and that none of the
depositors will get a cent. If you had your money there it's all gone."
"Gone! Failed! I--I don't understand."
"Well, it's just as I'm telling you. The cashier skipped off with the
money."
"With my money?"
"With everybody's money. But I got ahead of them. I heard the bank was
shaky and I drew out every cent I had there a couple of days ago. You
see, the cashier took the cash about a week back, but he concealed his
theft. Then, when the bank officials discovered it, they kept it quiet
for a time, hoping to make it up. But, it seems, one of the
vice-presidents was in with the cashier, and what the fellow didn't
steal the vice-president had used in bad speculations, so the bank's
wrecked."
"And my money's gone," repeated Mr. Crosby, in a dazed voice.
"I'm afraid so."
"What's happened? What's the matter, Enos?" asked Mrs. Crosby, who came
out on the porch where Mr. Jimson was. She had not heard all he said,
but she gathered that there was some trouble.
"We're ruined, Debby!" exclaimed the farmer. "All our money in the bank
is gone!"
"Gone?"
"Yes, the bank has failed. I'm sorry, Mr. Jimson, but I can't pay you
the interest," went on Mr. Crosby. "I intended going to Rossmore to-day
to get it for you. Now I can't."
"I don't know about that," replied the holder of the mortgage on the
Crosby farm. "I don't see what the failure of the bank has to do with
you not paying me my interest."
"Why, I can't pay it if there isn't any money in the bank."
"I have nothing to do with that. I loaned you a certain sum on this
farm. You signed a paper agreeing to pay me my interest at a certain
time. That time has come and I want my money."
"But I can't pay you if the bank has failed."
"I tell you that has nothing to do with me!" exclaimed Mr. Jimson
angrily. "I want my money--that's all. How am I to know you had the
interest in the bank?"
"But I tell you I did!"
"Humph! A man's word isn't good for much nowadays. I want my interest,
and I intend to have it."
"I'm very sorry, Mr. Jimson," said Mr. Crosby in a strained voice, "but
I haven't got it."
"Then you'll have to get it. Take it from some other bank."
"Do I look like a man who had money in two banks?" demanded the poor
farmer. "I guess not! It takes all I can rake and scrape to make a
living and pay the interest. I put the money for the mortgage in the
bank where it would be safe. I didn't know the bank would fail."
"Well, you'll have to get it somewhere," went on the mortgage holder.
"Sell some of your things, or--or something."
"I haven't much left to sell--unless I sell myself, and I'm pretty much
of a slave the way it is."
"Huh! Any man who can afford to send his sons out West on a pleasure
trip ought to have the money to pay his interest," retorted Mr. Jimson.
"My sons did not go on a pleasure trip," answered Mr. Crosby. "They went
to hunt for gold."
"And a mighty foolish excursion it was, too. Why didn't you send them to
hunt for the fairy bag of gold at the foot of the rainbow? There would
have been about as much sense in it."
"They went with an experienced miner, Mr. Jimson. Besides, my boys had
earned a vacation."
"Oh, they had, eh? Then why don't they send back some gold nuggets? Why
don't they pay the interest?"
"They would if they could. Can't you wait a few weeks? I may be able to
get it together again. Or the officers may catch that cashier and get
some of the money back."
"I'll not wait one day. As for catching that cashier, I don't believe
they'll do it. The money is gone. You know what the agreement is in the
mortgage. Either you pay up my interest the day it is due, or take the
consequences."
"And what are the consequences?" asked Mrs. Crosby, who had been an
anxious listener to this conversation.
"The farm will be sold," replied Mr. Jimson. "That is my right and
privilege. All I get above the amount of the mortgage and the sheriff's
fee will go to you, of course, but I don't imagine it will be much. Now
I haven't any time to stand here talking to you. Have you my interest?
Yes or no. To-day is the day it's due."
"I'm sorry, but I haven't got it," replied Mr. Crosby.
"All right; then I'll instruct the sheriff to sell the farm."
"Oh, you wouldn't do that, would you?" exclaimed Mrs. Crosby.
"Of course I will. Why not? That's business. I don't lend money for fun.
You'd better get ready to move. Maybe you can go out West and dig gold."
And with that mean reminder Mr. Jimson drove off.
The misfortune was such a terrible one that at first the Crosby family
could hardly realize it. They were stunned. But it was not long before
they awoke to a realization of what it meant.
Mr. Crosby tried in vain to raise the money, so unexpectedly lost, to
pay the interest. He could borrow from no one, as he had nothing he
could offer as security. He had a small sum put away for the needs of
the winter, but this he knew it would be unsafe to touch.
So a few days after the visit of Mr. Jimson, notices were put up on the
house, barn and other buildings of the farm, stating that they would be
sold at public auction, under foreclosure proceedings, because the
interest on the mortgage was unpaid.
And some time later that sad event happened. Quite a crowd of farmers
gathered at the Crosby farm to bid on it. It was a good piece of land,
but times were dull, and when all expenses had been met, including the
mortgage, interest and sheriff's fees, there was only a few hundred
dollars left for Mr. Crosby, his wife and daughter. Most of their
possessions had been sold, as a chattel mortgage had been given as a
last resort to raise the cash for the interest.
"And this is what I have left after twenty years of hard work," said Mr.
Crosby sadly when the auction was over and he had received the few
hundred dollars.