“Morris,” I said, “we are going back to the France and have some breakfast.” And I smiled serenely, for my cable had gone and we couldn’t be robbed of that much, even if everything else went to the bad.
So we walked down to the embankment and I whistled for the ship’s boat, and was soon in my saloon eating the best breakfast that Stomati could cook. There is nothing like a full stomach to give one courage and to make one’s brain work up to the situation of the moment.
There is a good rule in whist (or some game of cards) that says “When in doubt, lead trumps.” A good axiom for a war correspondent (or anyone else for that matter) in trouble would be “when in a desperate plight and all seems lost—eat, and then do your thinking.” It is poor business worrying at best, and especially on an empty stomach. So I banished from my mind the delicacy of my situation and ate the most luxurious breakfast which the France afforded. When this duty was completed, I lighted a cigar, which I intended to smoke to the bitter end before I attempted that painful process of putting one’s mind through a wringer in an endeavor to make something out of nothing.
While the smoke from the first puff was floating out of the skylight, there came a tap at the companion-way hatch. I sent Morris to investigate. He returned clicking his heels and grinning from ear to ear.
“Here’s your chance,” he said. “It’s a banker guy named Rodwaner. He is doing a stunt in bum English, from which I gather that here is where we make the grand touch.”
Morris’s English may have been ambiguous, but I translated it as it was for the benefit of the solving of problems in slang.
“What did you tell him?” I asked.
Morris grinned, cracked his thumb joints.
“Was I eager? Not on your life! I said, ‘My boss is a very busy man; don’t think he can see you at all to-day.’ Well, the old man was some impressed. ‘Yes,’ he says, ‘yes, I realize your master must be busy—but this is an important matter about a loan.’ Well, sir, when he says loan, Monroe D. Morris makes his great stall. ‘Loan! Do you think my master is borrowing money at every port and from an unknown party like yourself?’ And then I gives him a line of talk and finally consents to getting him an interview for just a moment.”
At my direction he produced the banker, who came in with many bowings and scrapings and apologies for his intrusion. As an introduction he produced a telegram in German from the Branch Ottoman Bank at Budapest. I don’t know to this day how the old man ever got it or whom it came from—it was garbled and parts left out. It seemed that Rodwaner was the local agent of the Roumanian National Bank and that someone had advised the Central Bank in Bucharest that I had credit at Constantinople, and that small drafts might be honored on presentation of proper credentials. I had no credentials to show my friend, so I side-stepped that question. He had received the message two days before and had told everyone in town. When the France arrived and was the center of observation, old Rodwaner began to swell up with pride and boast of his importance as being the man whom the Ottoman Bank had advised of my coming. It appeared later that he had been talking freely in town, and as his importance grew with the magnitude he gave me, he had not spared in his praises of the “great personage” to arrive, and whom he was to finance. He asked how much I wanted, and as a starter I said £100. He then asked for my credentials, and I was obliged to admit I had none. He looked at me aghast. What should he do? He could not return ashore and tell his friends that his long heralded arrival was a “fraud” to whom he would not advance money, and, on the other hand, the idea of giving a stranger money without anything but a sight draft as security nearly threw him into spasms. It was his prestige with his neighbors ashore vs. risking his shekels, and it was a hard fight. But he was in the enemy’s country, and the sight of the France and my crew and Morris standing at my elbow like an ebony statue, saluting every time I looked his way, made a great impression. I gave him some whiskey and a cigar, and told him what a genuine pleasure it was to meet a banker of such importance and business sagacity in a little town like Sulina. I outlined to him how much I appreciated his trust in me (which was an anticipation, to be sure), and I pointed out how really great men depended on their intuitions in business rather than conventional forms. He swallowed it all and two more drinks of whiskey besides. Fortunately he had the money on him, for I don’t believe I would have gotten it so easily had we been obliged to attack him in his own lair. After the drink he began to loosen and at the third he drew a bag of gold out of his trousers pocket and counted out 100 gold pieces, being English sovereigns and German 20 mark gold pieces. I signed a receipt and filled my money belt on the spot before he could have a change of heart. I wanted twice as much, but I must be sure of something anyway, and I did not propose to risk it all by asking too much at the start. After Rodwaner had parted with his money he became very sad, but I cheered him up and about noon sent him ashore in the ship’s boat with Morris to break ground for an event which was to come off during the afternoon.