"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 tokeep 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.
"I guess they ain't going to open anyhow!" shouted a man."They've got our money, and they're going to keep it.What difference is an hour, anyway?""Yes, if they have the money, why don't they open, and not wait until ten o'clock?" cried another."I've got a hundred and five dollars in there, and I want it!"More excited persons were arriving every minute.The crowd surged this way, and that.Many looked anxiously at the clock in the tower of the town hall.The gilded hands pointed to a few minutes of ten.Would the bank open its doors when the hour boomed out? Many were anxiously asking this question.
Tom sat in his electric car, near the front of the bank.The interest of the crowd, which under ordinary circumstances would have been centered in the queer vehicle, was not drawn toward it.The people were all thinking of their money.
Suddenly one of the two doors of the bank slowly opened.There was a yell from the crowd, and a rush to get in.But the police managed to hold the leaders back, and then Tom saw that it was Ned Newton, who stood in the partly-opened portal.He held up his hand to indicate silence, and a hush fell over the mob.
"The bank is open for business," Ned announced, "but there must be no rush.The building is not large enough to accommodate you all.If you form a line, you will be admitted in turn.The bank hopes to pay you all.""Hopes!" cried a woman scornfully."We can't eat hopes, young man, nor yet pay the rent with it.Hopes indeed!"But Ned had said all he cared to, and, with rather a white face, he went back inside.The one door remained open and, with a policeman on either side, a line of anxious depositors was slowly formed.Tom watched them crowding and surging forward, all eager to be first to get their cash out, lest there be not enough for all.As he watched, the young inventor was aware that some was signaling to him from the big window of the bank.He looked more closely and saw Ned Newton beckoning to him, and the young cashier was motioning Tom to go around to the rear, where a door of the bank opened on a small alley.Wondering what was wanted, Tom slowly ran his machine down the side street, and up the alley.No one paid any attention to him.
A porter admitted the lad, and he made his way to the private offices, where he knew his father and Mr.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.
"What?" asked Mr.Swift and Tom in the same breath.
"The cash, or, what's just as good, the promise of it.I called up Mr.Chase, of the Clayton National Bank, and he has agreed to take the railroad securities I offered him as collateral, and let me have sixty thousand dollars on them! That will give us cash enough to weather the storm.Hurrah! We're all right now.Bless my check book!""The Clayton National Bank," remarked Mr.Swift, and his voice was hopeless."It's forty miles away, Mr.Damon, and no railroad around here runs anywhere near it.No one could get there and back with the cash to- day, in time to save us from ruin.It's impossible! Our last chance is gone.""How far did you say it was, Dad?" asked Tom quickly.
"Forty miles there, over forty, I guess, and not very good roads.We would need to have the cash here before three o'clock to be of any service to us.No, it's out of the question.The bank will have to fail!""No!" cried the young inventor, and his voice rang out through the room."I'll get the cash for you!""How?" gasped Mr.Damon."You can't get there and back in time?" "Yes, I can!" cried Tom."In my electric runabout! I can make it go ahundred miles an hour, if necessary! Probably I'll have to run slow over the bad roads; but I can do it! I know I can.I'll get the sixty thousand dollars for you!"For a moment there was silence.Then Mr.Damon cried:
"Good! And I'll go with you and deliver the securities to Mr.Chase.Come on, Tom Swift! Bless my collar button, but maybe we can yet save the old bank after all!"
