Ovington's Bank by Stanley J. Weyman — Read

The banker looked at the money lying at his feet. Clement looked at his father. He noted the elder man's despondent attitude, he read the lines which anxiety had deepened on his brow, and his assumed gaiety fell from him. He longed to say something that might comfort the other, but _mauvaise honte_ and the reserve of years were too much for him, and instead he rapidly and succinctly told his tale, running over what had happened in London and on the road. He accounted for what he had brought, and explained why he had brought it and at whose request. Then, as the banker, lost in troubled thought, his eyes on the money, did not speak, "It goes badly then, sir, does it? " he said. "I see that the place is full."

Ovington's eyes were still on the bags, and though he forced himself to speak, his tone was dull and mechanical. "Yes," he said. "We paid out fifteen thousand and odd yesterday. About six thousand in odd sums to-day. I have just settled with Yapp-two thousand seven hundred. Mills and Blakeway have drawn at the counter-three thousand and fifty between them. A packet of notes from Birmingham, eleven hundred. Jenkins sent his cheque for twelve hundred by his son, but he omitted to fill in the date."