Damascus was hit between the eyes by Burnett's big flop. He had been a sort of institution, a notable property in the town's assets. The town and the man now would be linked in the public thought like handcuffed prisoners, both equally disgraced, no matter for the entire innocence of one. The monetary loss was incidental, but their pride suffered a terrible jolt.
Several small banks in the range country which held Burnett's paper went out like popped peanut bags. In the midst of these financial funerals Judge Waters, president of the Damascus bank, walked about in his gander-like dignity, his lean figure and flabby vest not distended the thickness of a hair, for all the satisfaction that was in him and the public praise that attended his steps. Burnett never had been able to borrow a dollar at the Damascus bank; his paper found no market inside Judge Waters' door.
Out of regard for the disordered state of her soul, Dr. Hall avoided Mrs. Charles' table for his evening meal the day the big news broke. He was sorry for Mary, although the bold-tongued creature was undeserving of any sympathy, he knew. It would seem rather ungallant, he considered, to appear in the elation of justification before Mary, remembering her sharp words on the day he advised against the investment.
