He does not ask to have them discounted; does not try to dispose of them. The banker looks them over and comments on each somewhat as follows:
“H’m, that’s John Smith. He’s all right; good as gold. Owns 250 acres of fine land clear, and is prompt pay.
“Thomas Jones. Well, I’m not so sure about Jones. He’s good, but he’s slow, and will stand you off if he can.”
Thus he goes through the lot, commenting on the financial means and willingness to pay of each signer. When he has concluded the doctor gathers up the notes, replaces them in his wallet, chats for a moment about the weather and crop conditions, gives the banker a fine cigar, thanks him heartily for his courtesy, and turns to leave.
Country bankers make the most, if not all of their money by discounting the notes of their neighborhood farmers. They know the financial record of everybody within reaching distance. Men who are notoriously hard to collect from when the creditor is a stranger will pay the local banker without a murmur. They don’t want to “get in bad” with him because they want a good credit when they have occasion to borrow money. The result is that the local banker can collect in full on notes which in the hands of other holders would be worthless. They dislike to see notes made by their neighbors leave their bank. Almost invariably the banker will say:
“What are you going to do with that paper, Doctor?”
“Take it back to Chicago, and hold it until it is due, I suppose,” replies the doctor. “I don’t know what else to do with it.”
“I’ll discount some of it for you, if you wish.”
“Well, I wouldn’t mind selling it if I don’t have to pay too much of a share.” (This in an indifferent manner, as if he didn’t care whether he sold the notes or kept them.)
“Let me see them again,” the banker will say, ninety-nine times out of a hundred.