mself with an
effort, "f-forty thousand will do it."

Swiftly Sherman turned toward the door. "Where are you going?" the
assistant called.

"To get forty thousand dollars--if I have to turn highwayman," Sherman
flung over his shoulder.

CHAPTER XXXVII

"GIVE US OUR SAVINGS!"

As he left the bank Sherman cast over in his mind with desperate
swiftness the list of men to whom he could go for financial support.
Turner, Lucas & Co. had loaned Captain Folsom $25,000 on his two late
ventures, the Metropolitan Theatre and the Tehama House. Both, under
normal conditions, would have made their promoter rich. But nothing was
at par these days.

Sherman wondered uneasily whether Folsom could help. He was not a man to
save money, and the banker, who made it his business to know what
borrowers of the bank's money did, knew that Folsom liked gambling,
frequented places where the stakes ran high. Of late he had met heavy
losses. However, he was a big man, Sherman reasoned; he should have
large resources. Both of them were former army officers. That should
prove a bond between them. At Captain Folsom's house an old negro
servant opened the door, his wrinkled black face anxious.

"Mars Joe, he ain't right well dis evenin'," he said, evasively, but
when Sherman persisted he was ushered into a back room where sat the
redoubtable captain, all the fierceness of his burnside whiskers, the
austerity of his West Point manner, melted in the indignity of sneezes
and wheezes.

Sherman looked at him in frank dismay.

"Heavens, man," he said, "I'm sorry to intrude on you in this condition
... but my errand won't wait...."

"What do you want, Bill Sherman?" the sick man glowered.

"Money," Sherman answered crisply. "You know, perhaps, that Page, Bacon
& Co. have failed. Everyone's afraid of his deposits. We've got to have
cash tomorrow. How about your--?"

With a cry of irritation Folsom threw up his hands. "Money! God
Almighty! Sherman, there's not a loose dollar in town. My agent, Van
Winkle, has walked his legs off, talked himself hoarse.... He can't get
anything. It's impossible."

"Then you can do nothing?"

For answer Folsom broke into a torrent of sneezes and coughs. The old
negro came running. Sherman shook his head and left the room.

There remained Major Hammond, collector of the port, two of whose notes
the bank held.

He and Sherman were not over-friendly; yet Hammond must be asked.
Sherman made his way to the c