Consumed with envy, he began a systematic campaign to persuade the other Stay Morons that Willis was a villain because hossless kerridges were the worst form of PROG RESS and dangerous and they spooked the livestock and polluted the air and ought to be permanently banished from Stay More, but nobody listened to John because nobody believed that Willis really had one. It was very frustrating to John, trying to convince the people that Willis actually did possess an automobile, in order to persuade them that his possession of the automobile was deleterious. “Don’t carry on so, Doomy,” his older brothers Denton and Monroe said to him. “There’s nothin to worry about. Hit’s all only in yore haid. Fergit it. We aint interested.”
He appealed to Brother Long Jack Stapleton to make a picture show of Willis’s automobile, so that the people could see it, but Long Jack just stared at him and said, “What automobile?”
In time, John’s envy of Willis’s Model T Ford revealed itself to him for what it really was: envy. He came to realize that he would never be content until he had a Model T Ford for his very own, or, better yet, a Model U, V, W, X, Y or Z. Yet he had no money. He asked his father for a loan, but Isaac did not reply. The only other person who had money was Willis, and John couldn’t very well ask Willis for a loan to go out and buy a car to best him with. Like all of us who have at one time or another been short of cash, he dreamed of robbing the bank. He hatched elaborate plans for holding up the bank, in disguise. He considered many different types of disguise, and even tried out several. Then he suddenly realized that there wasn’t any bank. Stay More didn’t have one. In that case, he decided, somebody had better start one, and it might as well be him.
He made elaborate mental plans for his bank and its building, which adorns this chapter. In the first place, he determined, a bank building had to be a stronghold, so it couldn’t be robbed. He knew he must build his bank of heavy stones and cement. There were plenty of heavy stones lying around loose, but he would have to buy the cement, and he didn’t have the money. “Willis,” he said to his brother, “aint you a little bit skeered that somethin might happen to all the money you got stashed away some’ers?”
“If you’re tryin to git me to tell whar it’s hid, it won’t do you no good,” Willis said.
“Naw, naw, I aint interested in whar it’s hid. I just got to wonderin if you’d ever give a thought to whether somebody might find it and take it from ye?”
“That’ll be the day.”
“A furriner or a stranger or a tourist might come a-passin through, and when he sees that thar Model T he’ll know you got lots of money hid some’ers, and he might start sneakin around lookin fer it.”
“What Model T?”
John snorted. “Aw, I aint fooled. That’s it a-settin yonder, plain as day, even if nobody else believes it. Now look, here’s what I got in mind: I’m aimin to start me a bank. All I need is the cash to pay fer the see-ment, if you’d be so kind as to loan it to me and take it out of my wages.”
“Hmmm,” Willis said, and pondered his brother’s venture. “Whar you aim to find a steel door with combination lock fer yore vault?”
“Hadn’t thought of that,” John confessed. “Do ye reckon Sears, Roebuck would carry them things?”
“I misdoubt it,” Willis said. “But I got some equipment catalogs that might have ’em.” He dragged out his catalogs, and the brothers pored through them, until they had found a steel door with combination lock manufactured in St. Louis. The price of it, John was dismayed to learn, was almost enough to pay for an automobile. But whereas he couldn’t ask Willis for a loan to buy a car, he could, and did, ask Willis to help him get set up in his bank, pointing out the advantage to Willis, and to their father, and to their brothers and sisters and everybody, of having a safe place to keep their money. Willis thought a bank would just be an extra temptation to rob it, but John said he was going to make his bank out of heavy stone and put bars on the windows and with that steel door with combination lock for the vault, the only way any robber could get the money would be to hold up John, and as everybody knew John was the fastest trigger east of Indian Territory, which wasn’t Indian Territory anymore because Oklahoma had been granted statehood and Arkansas was no longer the western frontier.
After much persuasion, Willis considered the fact that if John left his employ and went into business for himself Willis would be getting rid of a clerk whom many customers didn’t like on account of his gloomy, doomy expression, and he also realized that while a gloomy-doomy expression is not an asset for a store clerk, it would be just perfect for a banker. So he loaned John the money for his cement, and sent off to St. Louis for a steel door with combination lock. It was summer, the creeks were dry, and the bed of Swains Creek was cluttered with an abundance of large stones; John selected among these and hauled them up Main Street to the north end, and began building his bank on the east side of the street. He named it the Swains Creek Bank and Trust Company, appropriately, for the creek had furnished the building materials. While he was building it, he attracted much curiosity, particularly among the younger generation, who wanted to know what kind of shop he was building. When he told them it was a bank, they asked what he was going to sell, and when he told them that he was not going to sell anything but just take in money, they went home and told their parents that John Ingledew was playing with rocks and some of the rocks had gotten into his head. But all six of John’s sons helped him with the masonry, and from time to time a lodgebrother from T.G.A.O.T.U. would stop by to help out, and the building was finished just in time to install the steel door with combination lock shipped from St. Louis. The vault was constructed of the same masonry as the building itself, and was bonded to it; it took six men to lift the steel door and hold it in place while it was bolted to the vault. Then John went to Jasper, where a job printing outfit was operated as a sideline to the Jasper Disaster, and ordered the printing of his deposit slips, checks, savings books and other forms.
The printer was also the editor of the Disaster, and he interviewed John and ran a front page story under the headline, NEW FINANCIAL EMPORIUM TO DEBUT AT STAY MORE. The article mentioned that a gala ribbon cutting and grand opening would feature refreshments on the house to all comers. John went all the way to Harrison just to get the lemons to make lemonade with, to serve to the womenfolk and children; to the men, of course, he would serve the best corn that could be found. Sirena and her daughter Lola were kept busy for a week baking pies and cakes.
The festivities lasted all day on the Second Tuesday of the Month, and were enjoyed by all present in downtown Stay More. John wished that Eli Willard was there to photograph the whole shebang. He waited until late afternoon, when most of the men were pleasantly plastered, to make his speech. Then he stood on the porch of his bank and addressed his townsmen, with an air of civic pride, telling them how glad he was to be able to contribute this handsome stone edifice to the Main Street skyline, a rugged building that would last forever, that all of us gathered here together can boast of to our great-great-grandchildren that we were present on the day it was first opened, a building solemnly dedicated to the preservation and protection of our hard-earned pennies and nickels, so that we may sleep better at night secure in the knowledge our riches are sealed away in a vault behind a door that took six men to lift, dedicated to the proposition that this great land of ours is a society of free enterprise wherein a man may work to earn capital and possess his capital in the form of cash and coins, and deposit his capital into the firm and powerful safekeeping of the Swains Creek Bank and Trust Company and hold up his head before all other men, the line forms right over here.
The line did not form. The men and women looked at one another, waiting to see who would go first, but nobody went. The city women had all brought their savings with them to deposit, but they would not move until the natives did. John Ingledew overheard a Swain woman saying to her husband, “Homer, d’ye reckon that loose stone in the chimley-hearth is the best place to keep it?” “Sshh,
hush, old woman,” he replied, but it was too late; the people around them had heard her. In another part of the crowd, a Plowright woman remarked to her husband, “It does kinder make a lump under the mattress,” while a Chism woman said to hers, “The rats might chew it if you keep on leavin it under the barn,” while a Duckworth woman said to hers, “I don’t mind ye stashin it in the peeanner, but it keeps some a the notes from soundin.” Before long, just about everybody had an idea of where everybody else was keeping their money, so they all went home and lifted rocks and mattresses and reached under barns and into pianos, and brought their money to deposit in John Ingledew’s bank, and the city women deposited their savings.
John collected almost five thousand dollars. His hands shook just from touching that much money, but he gathered it all up and carried it to his vault. The steel door on the vault, however, would not open. It had a little dial set into it with numbers from o to 9 running around it. That was the combination lock, he knew, but he did not know the combination. He fiddled with it for a while, turning it this way and that, but realized that it was hopeless. He was very nervous, and decided he had better return the money to the depositors until he could find out what the combination number was. He went from house to house, seeking to return the money, but he was rebuffed at every door; the people had revealed their money hiding places, and entrusted their money to John’s bank; it was up to John to keep his side of the bargain. He took the money home and ate supper with it in his lap; he put it under his pillow before going to bed; he kept his revolver loaded and in his hand while he tried to sleep, but he couldn’t sleep. He remembered that his father never slept, so he took the money down to the mill and asked Isaac if he would mind keeping an eye on the money for him. Isaac nodded. John reflected, and decided that since he had asked his father if he would mind, and his father nodded, that meant that he would mind. “You mean you won’t?” John said. Isaac nodded. John took the money home again and lay sleepless all night with it under his pillow. Early on the following morn, he sought out his brother Willis and asked him to drive his Model T up to St. Louis and find the vault-door manufacturer and find out what the combination was. Willis declined, suggesting that John send a first class special delivery letter; as postmaster, he sold the stamps to John.
John mailed his letter and went sleepless for four nights waiting for the reply, which said: “Before we can give you this information, you must furnish proof that you are indeed the owner of the bank.” How could he furnish proof? He drew up a petition, which said, “We, the undersigned, citizens of Stay More, county of Newton, state of Arkansas, do solemnly swear that John Ingledew is well known to us as John Ingledew, and is the owner of the Swains Creek Bank and Trust Company.” He took this petition around to everybody he could find; most of them signed it, although many of them could not write and had to sign an “X.” The petition was covered with a great variety of X’s. But he mailed it off, and went sleepless four more nights waiting for the reply, which said: “You will find the combination engraved in small figures in the lower left corner on the reverse of the door.” John thought about that for a while, then fired off another letter. “Goddamn it all to hell, how can I see the reverse of the goddamn door if the door is locked?” He waited another four days for the reply: “Please do not use profanity. If you will furnish us the serial number of your door, we can supply the combination from our files.” John couldn’t find any serial number, and wrote to tell them so. They replied: “The serial number is located in the upper right corner on the reverse of the door.” If John had not gone for so many nights without sleep, he would have lost his temper in the worst way, but he had no temper left to lose. He tried to curse, but it came out, “Ghdfm.”
He wrote another letter. “Dearest Sirs. I sure do hate to keep on bothering you good people like this, and I just know all of you fellers have much more important things to do than waste your time on a dumb old hillbilly like me, but I have to call your attention to the fact that there is no possible way I could send you the serial number of my door if the serial number is on the back side of it and the door is locked. On bended knee I beg of you, good gentlemen, to scratch your heads and think of something else.” He posted this, went home and fell asleep and slept for four days and nights with the money under his pillow and his revolver in his hand. The reply came, enclosing the combination number, which had been located by tracing the shipping invoice number to the list of serial numbers. John ran all the way up Main Street to the bank with his money and tried the combination on the vault door; tumblers clicked, but nothing happened. John noticed that there was a handle on the door, and he discovered that the handle would turn, and when it was turned the door opened; he foreverafter wondered if it would have opened in the first place if he had simply turned the handle. He put the money into the vault and locked it. Then he sat down at his desk and hid the combination number in the bottom drawer.
He was in business. The business of a bank is to take folks’ money and keep it safe and pay interest on it by loaning it out at a higher rate of interest to other folks. Whom did John know who would like to borrow some money? Well, there was a feller who wanted very much to take out an automobile loan so he could get him a Model T, or better. Feller named John Ingledew. “John, how much do you need for this loan?” John asked him. John told him. “That’s quite a lot. Are you a upstandin citizen of the community, and a good family man?” John asked him. “Some has been known to say so,” John modestly replied. “What is your occupation?” John wanted to know. “Why, I’m the pressydunt and cheerman of the board of the Swains Creek Bank and Trust Company,” John replied. “Do tell? Sir, it’s an honor to do business with such a tycoon. Your credit with us is always good. But I ought to point out, sir, that a Model T is the common man’s vee hickle, and a gentleman of your position ought to git hisself a better car.” “Is that so? Well, I will certainly have to give thought to that. Thank you for your advice. And thank you for the loan.” “You’re welcome. Come again, sir.” John opened the vault and took out the money for John’s automobile loan, and John put it in his pocket, closed the bank, and went off to Springfield and bought himself an Overland six-cylinder sedan, took an hour of driving lessons, and drove it home.
The people of Stay More believed it when they saw it, and were very much impressed. Willis was not impressed. John hoped that Willis would turn green with envy, since the Overland was such a better automobile than the Ford Model T. But since nobody believed that Willis had a Model T, he felt there wasn’t any point in his being envious of an automobile that was better than one that did not exist. Denton Ingledew said to his brother Monroe, “Wonder whar ole Doomy got the money?” Monroe replied, “Aw, bankers is all rich, don’t ye know that?” John parked his Overland in front of the bank, where it remained a symbol of affluence and an object of admiration. The doctors and dentists of Stay More felt that they too ought to have Overlands, and they applied to the bank for automobile loans, but John would not loan them enough for Overlands, and they had to settle for lesser cars, the financing of which emptied John’s vault, so that when Willis came to the bank and said to John, “How ’bout payin me back the money I lent ye fer the steel door and see-ment?” John had to put him off until another day.
John decided that he had better get out into the hills and go to work on some of the misers. Stay More had a number of these. They did not hide their money in the piano or under the mattress; they buried it. John drove his Overland right up to their dooryards, if they could be reached; if not, he tried to leave the car within distant view, so the misers could be impressed by the sight of it. He intimated that if the misers would deposit their money in his bank and let it accumulate interest, the misers too could afford an automobile some day. But the misers did not like the thought of having their coins and bills all mixed together with everybody else’s; they didn’t like the thought of exchanging their savings for a slip of scribbled paper. Only they knew where their money was buried, not even their wives
and children, so it was safe.
“Maybe it’s safe, yeah,” John agreed. “But don’t you know that the cost of everthing is goin up, and when prices rise, the value of the money goes down. So you might think you got a hunerd dollars buried out yonder behind the corncrib, but when you go to dig it up and spend it, you might discover it’s only fifty dollars.” Some of the misers could not resist this logic, and they yielded, grabbing their spades and going off and coming back with earth-caked casks and rusty iron coffers containing silver and gold pieces and a few greenbacks. They gave their money to John in return for a slip of paper; they never questioned his honesty; after all, he was an Ingledew, wasn’t he? and all Ingledews have always been honest.
The other misers, the ones who continued to resist, did so on the claim that it didn’t matter whether prices rose or not because they never intended to spend their money anyway. “Air ye jist goin to let it stay buried after you air?” John would ask, incredulously. “Since you’re the only one knows whar at it’s hid, you’ll carry the secret to your grave.” Well, no, they said; on their deathbeds they would tell their wives or children where the money was buried. “But what if you’re hit by lightnin, or a tree falls on ye, or yore heart gives out all of a suddent?” John persisted, and one by one the misers yielded, until he had them all.
But, curiously enough, John’s exposure to all of those misers turned him into something of a miser himself. His children, fortunately, had all come of age before he turned into a miser, so they could support themselves without any help from him, although his firstborn, E.H., after apprenticing himself to the town dentist, wanted to set up his own practice, but was denied help from his father and had to seek elsewhere. His assumed daughter Lola, who was secretly Willis’s, got a job clerking in Willis’s store. Odell, Bevis and Tearle were successful farmers, but their father constantly badgered them to save every penny and deposit it in his bank. John dreaded the thought that there was a single coin anywhere in Stay More lying around loose; even more he dreaded the thought of a single coin being spent unless it was absolutely necessary. Other men continued to chat about weather and crops and Base Ball, but John never talked about anything but thrift and savings accounts, and he was a terrible bore. He had to lend money to cover the interest on the savings accounts, but he hated to, and he subjected each borrower to a merciless and embarrassing cross-examination, and then, in the rare event the loan was granted, he charged the highest interest that the law allowed. Not a few rugged farmers were known to break down and cry like babies on the other side of his desk.
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