[Illustration]
There is no way in which one can so surely arouse the suspicions of
bankers as by trying to put some money in their hands. We went round to a
near-by bank hoping to open an account. As we had formerly dealt with an
uptown branch of the same institution, and as the cheque we wanted to
deposit bore the name of a quite well-known firm, we thought all would be
easy. But no; it seemed that there was no convincing way to identify
ourself. Hopefully we pulled out a stack of letters, but these were
waved aside. We began to feel more and more as though we had come with
some sinister intent. We started to light our pipe, and then it occurred
to us that perhaps that would be regarded as the gesture of a hardened
cracksman, seeking to appear at his ease. We wondered if, in all our
motions, we were betraying the suspicious conduct of the professional
embezzler. Perhaps the courteous banker was putting us through some
Freudian third degree ... in these days when the workings of the
unconscious are so shrewdly canvassed, was there anything abominable in
the cellar of our soul which we were giving away without realizing ...
had we not thought to ourself, as we entered the door, well, this is a
fairly decent cheque to start an account with, but we won't keep our
balance anywhere near that figure ... perhaps our Freudian banker had
spotted that thought and was sending for a psychological patrol wagon ...
well, how _could_ we identify ourself? Did we know any one who had an
account in that branch? No.
We thought of a friend of ours who banked at another branch of this
bank, not far away. The banker called him up and whispered strangely
over the phone. We were asked to take off our hat. Apparently our friend
was describing us. We hoped that he was saying "stout" rather than
"fat." But it seemed that the corroboration of our friend only
increased our host's precaution. Perhaps he thought it was a carefully
worked-out con game, in which our friend was a confederate. We signed
our name several times, on little cards, with a desperate attempt to
appear unconcerned. In spite of our best efforts, we could not help
thinking that each time we wrote it we must be looking as though we were
trying to remember how we had written it the last time. Still the banker
hesitated. Then he called up our friend again. He asked him if he would
know our voice over the phone. Our friend said he would. We spoke to our
friend, with whom we had eaten lunch a few minutes before. He asked, to
identify us, what we had had for lunch. Horrible instant! For a moment
we could not remember. The eyes of the banker and his assistant were
glittering upon us. Then we spoke glibly enough. "An oyster patty," we
said; "two cups of tea, and a rice pudding which we asked for cold, but
which was given us hot."
Our friend asserted, to the banker, that we were undeniably us, and
indeed the homely particularity of the luncheon items had already made
incision in his hardened bosom. He smiled radiantly at us and gave us a
cheque book. Then he told us we couldn't draw against our account until
the original cheque had passed through the Clearing House, and sent a
youth back to the office with us so that we could be unmistakably
identified.
As we left the banker's office someone else was ushered in. "Here's
another gentleman to open an account," said the assistant. "We hope he
knows what he had for lunch," we said to the banker.