THE BANK'S MISTAKE.
"I wish," said Francesca, "you would explain something to me."
"I am full," I said, "of explanations of every conceivable difficulty. You have only to tap me and an explanation will come bubbling out."
"I am not sure that I want the bubbling sort. On the whole I think I prefer the still waters that run deep."
"Those too can be provided for you. All you have got to do is to ask."
"What a comfort it is," she said, "to live constantly in the mild and magnificent eye of an encyclopædia."
"Yes," I said, "it saves a lot of running about, doesn't it? Come now, fire off your question."
"What is your opinion of the Bank of England?"
"The Bank of England?" I gasped. "One doesn't have opinions of the Bank of England. One just accepts it, you know, and there you are."
"Yes," she said, "that's exactly what I felt about it. I thought it was one of the signs of our superiority to everybody else, with its crisp banknotes and all that."
"You mustn't forget its detachment of the Guards to protect it. Many's the good dinner I've had with the officer of the Bank Guard in the old days."
"I'm afraid that leaves me cold, not being able to take part in it."
"If it gave me pleasure to dine at the Bank, I should have thought the subject would have interested you."
"Well, it wasn't exactly what I wanted to consult you about."
"What was it then?" I said. "You know you mustn't cast doubts on the financial stability of the Bank. You'll be put in prison if you do."
"I shouldn't dream of doing anything of the sort."
"Come, then, be quick about it. This suspense is making me tremble for my War Loan Bonds."
"Is the Bank," said Francesca, "a generous institution?"
"Banks," I said, "cannot afford to be generous. They are just and accurate and there's an end of it."
"The Bank of England," she said, "being so great, is an exception to the rule. Anyhow, it has been generous to me, for it has given me one hundred pounds."
"Do you mean," I cried, "one hundred pounds that don't belong to you?"
"Of course I do. If they had belonged to me there wouldn't have been anything to make a fuss about."
"This," I said, "is one of the most breathless things ever known. A mere woman, who is unskilled in finance and has only the dimmest recollection of the rule of three and compound interest, gets the better of the greatest banking institution in the world to the tune of one hundred pounds. It's incredible. Of course you've made a mistake."
"That's right," she said. "Always go against your wife and think her wrong, even when it is only an institution that she's contending with."
"It's precisely because it is an institution that I doubt your statement."
"You're not very helpful; you don't tell me whether I'm to sit down under the burden of owning one hundred pounds of the bank's money that doesn't belong to me."
"Francesca," I said, "you must calm yourself and tell me as clearly as possible how you came into possession of this extra hundred pounds which is apparently burning a hole in your pocket—if indeed you have a pocket, which I doubt."
"You're quite wrong; I've got two pockets in the dress I'm wearing at this moment."
"I will not," I said, "discuss with you the number of your pockets. Now tell me your pathetic story. I am all ears."
"Well," said Francesca, "it's this way. I put one hundred pounds in the old War Loan, and then Exchequer Bonds came along, and I put one hundred pounds of my very best savings into them, and then came the new Five per Cent. War Loan, and somehow or other I got converted into that. And after that there was what they called a broken amount, which I brought up to fifty pounds or a multiple of fifty pounds. That cost me about forty pounds. I don't know why they wanted me to do it or why I did it."
"Probably they thought it would be easier for the Bank."
"That's paltry; easiness ought to have nothing to do with it."
"Anyhow," I said, "I make out from your statement that you ought to have two hundred and fifty pounds of Five per Cent. Stock to your credit."
"Precisely," said Francesca impressively, "but yesterday morning I received from the bank a dividend thing—"
"You may call it a warrant," I said.
"A dividend warrant," continued Francesca, "for eight pounds fifteen shillings on three hundred and fifty pounds, so what have you got to say now for your precious Bank of England?"
"Your tale," I said, "has interested me strangely, but there is one point you omitted to mention."
"I am innocent, my Lord," said Francesca. "I have told you the truth."
"But not the whole truth, prisoner at the bar. Don't you remember that when the new Loan came out you borrowed money from me in order to take up one hundred pounds of it?"
"Is that it?" said Francesca. "No, I hadn't remembered that."
"Of course," I said, "a financial magnate like yourself would easily forget so wretched a sum; but the Bank has done no wrong."
"Yes, it has; it sent out a lot of papers that were very confusing, and it's no wonder I made a mistake."
"The question in my mind," I said, "is this: when are you going to repay what you owe me—with interest?"
"We'll talk about that another time," said Francesca.
R.C.L.