o put off asking her another six months." He sighed
and continued, "And the first thing I know the drummer or the
preacher'll get her." He chewed for a minute in peace and chuckled,
"Well--Bob, I suppose you'll be next?" He did not wait for an answer,
but spoke up quickly, "Well, Bob, good night--good night," and
hurried to his shop.

The next day the people that blackened Main Street in Sycamore Ridge
talked of two things--the bank failure and the new Golden Belt Wheat
Company. Barclay enlisted Colonel Culpepper, and promised him two
dollars for every hundred-acre option to lease that he secured at
three dollars an acre--the cash on the lease to be paid March first.
Barclay's plan was to organize a stock company and to sell his stock
in the East for enough to raise eight dollars an acre for every acre
he secured, and to use the five dollars for making the crop. He
believed that with a good wheat crop the next year he could make money
and buy as much land as he needed. But that year of the panic John
capitalized the hardship of his people, and made terms for them, which
they could not refuse. He literally sold them their own want. For the
fact that he had a little ready money and could promise more before
harvest upon which the people might live--however miserably was no
concern of his--made it possible for him to drive a bargain little
short of robbery. It was Bob's part of the business to float the stock
company in the East among his father's rich friends. John was to
furnish the money to keep Bob in New York, and the Hendricks'
connections in banking circles were to furnish the cash to float the
proposition, and the Hendricks' bank--if John could get it opened
again--was to guarantee that the stock subscribed would pay six per
cent interest. So there was no honeymoon for John Barclay. When he
dropped the reins and helped his bride out of the buggy the next
morning in front of the Thayer House, he hustled General Ward's little
boy into the seat, told him to drive the team to Dolan's stable, and
waving the new Mrs. Barclay good-by, limped in a trot over to the
bank. In five minutes he was working in the crowd, and by night had
the required number of the depositors ready to agree to let their
money lie a year on deposit, and that matter was closed. He was a
solemn-faced youth in those days, with a serious air about him, and
something of that superabundance of dignity little men often think
they must assume to hold thei