On an ordinary day the customers that come to the bank’s counter may be reckoned on the fingers.  Early in the morning the Post-Office people come for their cash and change; next, some of the landlords of the principal inns with their takings; afterwards, such of the tradesmen as have cheques to pay in.  Later on the lawyers’ clerks, or the solicitors themselves drop in; in the latter case for a chat with the manager.  A farmer or two may call, especially on a Friday, for the cash to pay the labourers next day, and so the morning passes.  In the afternoon one or more of the local gentry or clergy may drive up or may not—­it is a chance either way—­and as the hour draws near for closing some of the tradesmen come hurrying in again.  Then the day, so far as the public are concerned, is over.  To-morrow sees the same event repeated.

On a market-day there is a great bustle; men hustle in and out, with a bluff disregard of conventional politeness, but with no intention of rudeness.  Through the open doors comes the lowing of cattle, and the baaing of sheep; the farmers and dealers that crowd in and out bring with them an odour of animals that exhales from their garments.  The clerks are now none too many, the long broad counter none too large; the resources of the establishment are taxed to the utmost.  The manager is there in person, attending to the more important customers.

In the crush are many ladies who would find their business facilitated by coming on a different day.  But market-day is a tradition with all classes; even the gentry appear in greater numbers.  If you go forth into the Market-place you will find it thronged with farmers.  If you go into the Corn Hall or Exchange, where the corndealers have their stands, and where business in cereals and seeds is transacted; if you walk across to the auction yard for cattle, or to the horse depository, where an auction of horses is proceeding; everywhere you have to push your way through groups of agriculturists.  The hotels are full of them (the stable-yards full of their various conveyances), and the restaurant, the latest innovation in country towns, is equally filled with farmers taking a chop, and the inner rooms with ladies discussing coffee and light refreshments.

Now every farmer of all this crowd has his cheque-book in the breast pocket of his coat.  Let his business be what it may, the purchase of cattle, sheep, horses, or implements, seed, or any other necessary, no coin passes.  The parties, if the transaction be private, adjourn to their favourite inn, and out comes the cheque-book.  If a purchase be effected at either of the auctions proceeding it is paid for by cheque, and, on the other hand, should the farmer be the vendor, his money comes to him in the shape of a cheque.  With the exception of his dinner and the ostler, the farmer who comes to market carries on all his transactions with paper.  The landlord of the hotel takes cash for the dinner, and the ostler takes his shilling.  For the rest, it is all cheques cheques, cheques; so that the whole business of agriculture, from the purchase of the seed to the sale of the crop, passes through the bank.