And so, after she had hastily performed her toilet, Rose walked into town, with the two old sea-dogs as an escort.
First, they went to the Kangaroo Bank, where the Pilot placed the sheaf of deposit receipts on the manager’s table, and said, “It comes to something over ten thousand pound, sir. What we want to know is, will you allow my dar’ter to draw five or ten thousand, and no questions asked?”
“Ah—really,” said Mr. Tomkinson, “it would be most unusual. These deposits are made for a term, and the rule of the bank is that they can’t be drawn against.”
“Then what is the good of all this money to my gal, if she can’t use it?”
“She can draw it as it falls due.”
“But suppose that don’t suit? Suppose my dar’ter wants it at once, what then?”
The manager rubbed his chin: that was his only reply.
“These bits o’ paper are supposed to be as good as gold,” continued the Pilot, rustling the receipts as they lay upon the table, “ain’t they?”
“Better,” said the manager, “in some ways much better.”
“Indeed,” retorted the Pilot. “Then what’s the good o’ them, if nothing can be done with ’em?”