As the Crow Flies

“Worrying you?” Mr. Hadlow sat forward anxiously in his chair.

“Your tie.”

“My tie?” The manager once again fingered the knot nervously.

“Yes, your tie. Don’t tell me—the Buffs?”

“You are correct, Sir Danvers.”

“Saw some action, did you, Hadlow?”

“Well, not exactly, Sir Danvers. My sight, you understand.” Mr. Hadlow began fiddling with his glasses.

“Bad luck, old chap,” said the colonel, his monocle dropping back down. “Well, to continue. My colleagues and I are of a mind to expand, but I feel it would only be the honorable thing to let you know that we have an appointment with a rival establishment on Thursday afternoon.”

“Thursday afternoon,” repeated the manager, after dipping his quill pen once more into the inkwell on the front of his desk and adding this to the other pieces of information he had already recorded.

“But I had rather hoped it would not have gone unnoticed,” continued the colonel, “that we chose to come and see you first.”

“I’m most flattered,” said Mr. Hadlow. “And what terms were you hoping this bank might offer, Sir Danvers, that your own could not?”

The colonel paused for a moment and Becky glanced towards him alarmed, as she couldn’t remember if she had briefed him on terms. Neither of them had expected to have reached quite this far at the first meeting.

The colonel cleared his throat. “We would naturally expect competitive terms, if we are to move our business to your bank, being aware of the long-term implications.”

This answer seemed to impress Hadlow. He looked down at the figures in front of him and pronounced: “Well, I see you are requesting a loan of two hundred and fifty pounds for the purchase of 131 and 135 Chelsea Terrace, which, bearing in mind the state of your account, would require an overdraft facility”—he paused, appearing to be making a calculation—“of at least one hundred and seventy pounds.”

“Correct, Hadlow. I see you have mastered our present predicament admirably.”

The manager allowed himself a smile. “Given the circumstances, Sir Danvers, I feel we could indeed advance such a loan, if a charge of four percent interest per annum would be acceptable to you and your colleagues.”

Again the colonel hesitated, until he caught Becky’s half smile.

“Our present bankers provide us with a facility of three and a half percent,” said the colonel. “As I’m sure you know.”

“But they are taking no risk,” pointed out Mr. Hadlow. “As well as refusing to allow you to be overdrawn more than fifty pounds. However,” he added before the colonel could reply, “I feel in this particular case we might also offer three and a half percent. How does that sound to you?”

The colonel did not comment until he had observed the expression on Becky’s face. Her smile had widened to a grin.

“I think I speak for my colleagues, Hadlow, when I say we find your proposition acceptable, most acceptable.”

Becky and Charlie nodded their agreement.

“Then I shall begin to process all the paperwork. It may take a few days, of course.”

“Of course,” said the colonel. “And I can tell you, Hadlow, that we look forward to a long and profitable association with your bank.”

The manager somehow rose and bowed all in one movement, an action Becky felt even Sir Henry Irving would have found difficult to accomplish.

Mr. Hadlow then proceeded to escort the colonel and his young associates to the front hall.

“Old Chubby Duckworth still with this outfit?” inquired the colonel.

“Lord Duckworth is indeed our chairman,” murmured Mr. Hadlow, reverentially.

“Good man—served with him in South Africa. Royal Rifles. I shall, with your permission, mention our meeting to him, when I next see Chubby at the club.”

“That would be most kind of you, Sir Danvers.”