II

The capital of New Freedom was a flat, checkerboard town of six thousand people, clinging to a railroad tangent. It had a trolley line, three banks, one eight-story office building, an Odd Fellows Hall, two movie theatres, nine gas stations, electric lights, a chiropractor, a tourist camp, a country club, no trees, three-quarters-of-a-mile of boulevard with lights down the middle and geometrical spaces indicated for botanical effects.

In first appearances there was no sign of a revolution having taken place. Everything was running. People were going about as usual. They seemed suspicious of strangers, however, and that certainly is not standard equipment in the western specification. There were other signs as the view deepened.

At the Chamber of Commerce the publicity man was clearing out his desk, moving, going away to look for another job of boosting. No more funds for that purpose here.

On an easel in the hotel lobby was a notice: “Rotarian Club Luncheon Postponed.”

One at all sensitive to the atmosphere of a bank would have known at once, just inside the door, that the sky had fallen. And one obtuse in such matters must anyhow have noticed the figure of Anx. Plaino standing in the window of the First National, twice life size, thus magnified by the rage of Jeremiah that was on him. In the other window—the First National was on the main corner with two plate glass windows—in the other was a tombstone, chiselled as follows:

Scarred to the Memory
of the
Freemen’s League
Born with a post-dated check.
Now gone to find its redeemer.
Died (blank)

Against the plate glass, to be read from the outside, was this singular communication to whom and all concerned:

When the date is filled out on the bottom of that tombstone any man willing to work may borrow money at this bank on his experience and character. Few will have anything else to borrow on. As we started with nothing, so, when the time comes, we can begin all over again. Until then—

Yours truly,

ANX. PLAINO.

This asthmatic old cedar was a landmark on the prairie. His trunk was twisted, his bark was rusty, the law of his growth was run; and yet he was strong, hard in the roots, inclined against the wind. In tenacity he was fanatical. He had put his bank’s assets deep in the salt and was there to stand siege of any length. No compromise desired. His loan window was shut and padlocked.