"Put me down for a hundred thousand," I said.
The manager nearly fell out of his swing-chair. "My dear Sir," he gasped,
"have you any prospect of being able to save a hundred thousand during the
next year or so?"
"Am I a milk-dealer or a munition-worker?" I replied. "I should be both
surprised and gratified if I saved that sum in a year. Still I might do it,
you know. I should have to give up tobacco, of course. Or suppose relations
hitherto unknown to me died and left me handsome legacies. You are always
seeing these things in the papers. 'Baker Inherits Half-Million From Lost
Australian Uncle.'"
"A hundred," amended the manager. "Shall we say a hundred? You need not pay
a deposit. I'll give you a form."
"Where's your patriotism?" I demanded. "A hundred, you say? Well, I decline
your overdraft. Keep your ill-gotten much-grudged gain. I'll pay cash."
I left the bank sadly. I had thought of intimating to the blonde, brown and
auburn beauties that I had just put a hundred thousand in War Loan. I had
imagined their eyes gleaming at the spectacle of one-tenth of a
millionaire.
And now I can't go to the bank again. At least not till I have worked up my
balance a little above its present total, namely £2 _1s. 9d._
* * * * *
[Illustration: _Instructor_ (_to very nervous lady, who, with a view to
war-work, is inquiring about tuition_). "OF COURSE YOU WOULD BEGIN ON A
LOW-POWERED CAR, AND THEN WE SHOULD TAKE YOU IN A 40--50, AND FINISH YOU
OFF IN TRAFFIC."]
* * * * *