While the leaven was working ashore I pounded out a mail story and read over a batch of English papers which the banker had been thoughtful enough to bring aboard with him when he came. A glance through the papers, coupled with the gossip I had picked up ashore, indicated that the situation was about the same as when I had left Constantinople. The same crop of alarms and reports of disaster were circulating here as they had been at every point I had touched. Odessa, Sevastopol and the Caucasus generally named as being in the most desperate plights. I knew that Odessa, though in a bad way, might keep for a few weeks, but did not feel so sure of the other places. An interview with the skipper and a careful scrutiny of the chart determined me to go first to Sevastopol, which was only a night’s run from the mouth of the Danube. From there I figured I could reach the coast of Asia Minor is another fourteen hours and get the Turkish cable for my story from the Crimean city, and then be within striking distance of the Caucasus if on closer view-point the situation looked good.
I called the engineer, and he admitted coal in bunkers to last five days. Stomati urged a replenishment of the larder, and I gave him some of my Rodwaner gold to get it, and then sent the skipper out to clear the ship for Sevastopol so that we might be ready to sail by four in the afternoon.
In the meantime Morris was standing by the banker, saluting and exhibiting deference at every step. Rodwaner, with three drinks under his belt and an Ethiopian attendant, began to swell, and an hour after he had set foot on shore everyone in town was pointing him out as the only man in town whom outsiders knew and turned to for financial matters. The stories my banker circulated about his distinguished friend on the “yacht” simply made his rivals green with envy.
At three in the afternoon Morris returned and reported on Rodwaner’s satisfaction and also on his own activity in boosting my credit ashore. The moment was now ripe for the second attack. So we got up our anchor and steamed majestically up the river and made directly in front of Rodwaner’s minute establishment. With all flags flying and steam blowing off the France certainly made an excellent appearance. Quite a crowd gathered while we were tying up. With Morris clearing the way, I came down the gang-plank and entered the banker’s shop. He met me at the door wreathed in smiles and ignoring absolutely his old friends that crowded about the door. I sat down and had some tea while the two clerks in the place gaped at me over their ledgers, and a score or more of faces peered through the front windows.
“Yes,” old Rodwaner was saying, so loud that a rival money-lender in the front rank could take it in, “it has been a great pleasure to do business with you. I hope you will always call on me. I can always give you up to £1000.”
I saw him trying to gather out of the corner of his eye the impression that he was making. Everything was working finely, even better than I had hoped.
“Yes, of course,” I said. “That £100 I drew was indeed a trifle.”
“Nothing at all,” replied the banker. “A mere detail. A drop in the bucket. I might have done much better by you had you needed it,” and he fairly hugged himself at the great coup he was making before the rest of the town.
A dozen had come in and stood listening to our conversation. It was now about four, and so I delivered my bomb which I had held until the psychological moment. So I said:
“I hesitated to ask for more, Mr. Rodwaner, as I did not suppose your institution was such an important one.”