"Run on the bank," was the brief answer. "It's failed."
Tom felt a pang of disappointment. Somehow, he had hoped that
his father and his friends might have been able to stave off
ruin. As he approached nearer Tom was made aware that the crowd
was in an ugly mood.
"Why don't they open the doors and give us our money?" cried
one excited woman. "It's ours! I worked hard for mine, an' now
they want to keep it from us. I wish I'd put it in the new bank."
"Yes, that's the best place," added another. "That Mr. Foger
has lots of money."
"I can see the hand of Andy's father, and that of Mr. Berg, at
work here," thought Tom, "They have spread rumors of the bank's
trouble, and hope to profit by it. I wish I could find a way to
beat them at their own game."
As the minutes passed, and the bank was not opened, the ugly
temper of the crowd increased. The few police could do nothing
with the mob, and several, bolder than the rest, advocated
battering down the doors. Some went up the steps and began to
pound on the portals. Tom looked for a sight of his father or Mr.
Damon, but could not see either.
It was not the regular hour for opening the bank, but when the
police reminded the people of this they only laughed.
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