Damon would be. In the
corridors he could hear the murmur of the throng and the chink of
money, as the tellers paid it out.
"Well, Tom, this is bad business," remarked Mr. Swift, as he
saw his son. The lad noticed that Mr. Damon was in the telephone
booth.
"Yes, Dad," admitted Tom. "It's a run, all right. What are you
going to do?"
"The best we can. Pay out all the cash we have, and hope that
before that time, the people will come to their senses. The bank
is all right if they would only wait. But I'm afraid they won't
and, after we pay out all the cash we have, we'll have to close
the doors. Then there's sure to be an unpleasant scene, and maybe
some of the more hot-headed ones will advocate violence. We have
given orders to the tellers to pay out as slowly as possible, so
as to enable us to gain some time."
"And all you need is money; is that it, Dad?"
"That's it, Tom, but we have exhausted every possibility. Mr.
Damon is trying a forlorn hope now, but, even if he is successful--"
Before Mr. Swift had ceased speaking, Mr. Damon fairly burst
from the telephone booth. He was much excited.
"I've got it! I've got it!" he cried.
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