He felt the coming of some great calamity, the end of a dream. This
rain might stay for days; it looked like such a downpour; and that would
mean the end of the Silver Fleece; the end of Zora's hopes; the end of
everything. He gulped in despairing anger and hit the staid old horse
the smartest tap she had known all summer.

"Why, Bles, what's the matter?" called Miss Smith, as the horse started
forward. He murmured something about getting wet and drew up at the
Toomsville bank.

Miss Smith was invited politely into the private parlor. She explained
her business. The President was there and Colonel Cresswell and one
other local director.

"I have come for a mortgage. Our land is, as you know, gentlemen, worth
at least ten thousand dollars; the buildings cost fifteen thousand
dollars; our property is, therefore, conservatively valued at
twenty-five thousand dollars. Now I want to mortgage it for"--she
hesitated--"five thousand dollars."

Colonel Cresswell was silent, but the president said:

"Money is rather scarce just now, Miss Smith; but it happens that I have
ten thousand dollars on hand, which we prefer, however, to loan in one
lump sum. Now, if the security were ample, I think perhaps you might get
this ten thousand dollars."

Miss Smith grew white; it was the sum she wanted. She tried to escape
the temptation, yet the larger amount was more than twice as desirable