-not tied
up in any of them. Of course, they know the standing of the syndicate.
There'll have to be some new arrangement for a large reserve fund right
here on home soil, or we'll be kept in hot water half the time. I don't
believe in having the hands that work in one place, and the purse that
holds their pay in another; it gets too ticklish at such times when the
market drops and a plank or two at the bottom falls out."

"Neither do I;" Mr. Wiggins spoke emphatically. "The Quarries Company's
liabilities run up into the millions on account of the contracts they
have signed and the work they have undertaken, and there ought to be a
million of available assets to discount panics like this one that looks
pretty threatening to us away off here in Maine. Our bank ought to have
the benefit of some of the money."

"Well, so far, we've had our trouble for nothing, you might say. You, as
a director, know that Champney sends up a hundred thousand say on
Thursday, and Romanzo draws it for the pay roll and other disbursements
on Saturday morning; they hold it at the other end to get the use of it
till the last gun is fired." He spoke with irritation.

"It looks to me as if some sort of a gun had been fired already," said
Mr. Wiggins, pointing to the increasing crowd before the hall.

"Something's up," said Emlie, startled at the sight of the gathering
hundreds.

"Then there's my place," said the Colonel--the other two thought they
heard him sigh--and started up the street.

Emlie turned to Mr. Wiggins.

"It's rough on the Colonel; he's a man of peace if ever there was one,
and likes to stand well with one and all. This rough and tumble business
of sheriff goes against the grain; his time is up next month; he'll be
glad enough to be out of it. I'll step over to the office for the paper,
I see they've just come--the men have got them already from the stand--"

Elmer Wiggins caught his arm.

"Look!" he cried under his breath, pointing to the crowd and a man who
was mounting the tail of an express wagon that had halted on the
outskirts of the throng. "That's one of the quarrymen--he's ring-leader
every time--he's going to read 'em something--hark!"

They could hear the man haranguing the ever-increasing crowd; he was
waving a newspaper. They could not hear what he was saying, but in the
pauses of his speechifying the hoarse murmur of approval grew louder and
louder. The cart-tail orator pointed to the headlines; there was a