“Did you say you had made a fortune in mining deals?” asked one of the gentlemen across the table, gazing at Keith through his gold-rimmed glasses with a wintry little smile.

“No, I did not.  Whatever was said on that subject Mr. Creamer said.”

“Oh!  That’s so.  He did.  Well, you are the sort of a man we want about here.”

This remark was received with some amusement by the others; but Keith passed it by, and turned to Mr. Creamer.

“Mr. Creamer, how much money will you give me on this draft?  This is mine.  The other I wish to deposit here.”

“Why, I don’t know just what the exchange would be.  What is the exchange on this, Penwell?”

“Will you cash this draft for me?” asked Keith.

“Certainly.”

“Well, will you do me a further favor?  It might make very little difference if I were to make a deposit in Norman’s bank; but if you were to make such a deposit there, it would probably reassure people, and the run might be stopped.  I have known of one or two instances.”

Mr. Creamer agreed, and the result was a sort of reaction in Norman’s favor, in sentiment if not in action.  It was arranged that Keith should go and make a deposit, and that Mr. Creamer should send a man to make a further one and offer Wentworth aid.

When Gordon Keith reached the block on which stood Norman’s bank, the street was already filled with a dense crowd, pushing, growling, complaining, swearing, threatening.  It was evidently a serious affair, and Keith, trying to make his way through the mob, heard many things about Norman which he never could have believed it would have been possible to hear.  The crowd was in an ugly mood, and was growing uglier.  A number of policemen were trying to keep the people in line so that they could take their turn.  Keith found it impossible to make his way to the front.  His explanation that he wished to make a deposit was greeted with shouts of derision.

“Stand back there, young man.  We’ve heard that before; you can’t work that on us.  We would all like to make deposits—­somewhere else.”

“Except them what’s already made ’em,” some one added, at which there was a laugh.

Keith applied to a policeman with hardly more success, until he opened the satchel he carried, and mentioned the name of the banker who was to follow him.  On this the officer called another, and after a hurried word the two began to force their way through the crowd, with Keith between them.  By dint of commanding, pushing, and explaining, they at length reached the entrance to the bank, and finally made their way, hot and perspiring, to the counter.  A clerk was at work at every window counting out money as fast as checks were presented.

Just before Keith reached the counter, on glancing through an open door, he saw Norman sitting at his desk, white and grim.  His burning eyes seemed deeper than ever.  He glanced up, and Keith thought he caught his gaze on him, but he was not sure, for he looked away so quickly.  The next moment he walked around inside the counter and spoke to a clerk, who opened a ledger and gave him a memorandum.  Then he came forward and spoke to a teller at the receiving-window.