Albion, although a young and sturdy man not past his youth, was exceedingly afraid of everything.

He was unmarried, and boarded at the hotel.
There he was divided between fear of burglars, if he slept on the first floor, and of fire if he slept on the second.

He compromised by sleeping on the second, with a sufficient length of stout, knotted muslin stowed away in his trunk, to be attached to the bed-post and reach the ground in case of a conflagration.
There was no bank in East Westland, none nearer than Alford, six miles away, and poor Albion was at his wit's end to keep his daily receipts with safety to them and himself.

He had finally hit upon the expedient of leaving them every night with Sidney Meeks, who was afraid of nothing.

"If anything happens to your money, Albion," said Sidney, "I'll make it good, even if I have to sell my wine-cellar." Albion was afraid even to keep a revolver.