The Complete Stories of Morley Callaghan

by Callaghan, Morley; Atwood, Margaret;

  “I put it to you that you and Bowman got together to work out a way of getting this money.”

  “I don’t follow you,” he said uneasily.

  “Tell us how you got together on it.”

  “After listening to me it seemed to him that I would be silly if I didn’t go after a loan and make some real money.”

  “Did you hold out any inducement to him to make the loan?”

  “I did not.”

  “And he was only trying to be helpful with business advice in his field.”

  “Like any other businessman, I suppose, he saw that I ought to be able to make a lot of money.”

  “You mean like a banker looking for business?”

  “No, it was just a businessman’s observation, I thought.”

  “Then he suggested a loan?”

  “Well, he smiled and said banks made loans.”

  “Did you offer him any inducement at all to make such a loan?”

  “None at all. He offered to look into it.”

  “When did he tell you his head office wanted twice the security that you could get?”

  “Well, the truth is,” Harry said reluctantly, “he never told me.”

  “You mean you thought you were meeting all the requirements?”

  “Well, he had said that reputation was as important as security to a bank. They both added up to the loan.”

  “Hm,” Henderson said, with his dry old smile. “So he didn’t tell you about his little difficulty with the head office. A most helpful friend,” and then he turned to Ouimet. “Your witness.”

  Smiling politely Ouimet came close to Harry and he had cold sharp eyes. In one hand he was twisting a little gold knife on a gold chain, and the hand was thin and pale. His hair was clipped tight at the temples to conceal the grayness. They had known each other casually for two years, but Harry had never felt any real friendliness in him, and they had shied away from each other. Ouimet was a strict Catholic, and in his private life he had a spinsterish aloofness from any kind of self-indulgence and Harry had always felt he disapproved of him.

  “What is your occupation, Mr. Lane?” he asked gently.

  “I’m the public-relations director for the Sweetman Distillery.”

  “And your job, I take it, is to promote goodwill,” and he smiled, making a joke. “Should I say to soften people up?”

  “No, you shouldn’t say it.”

  “Then I apologize. But a man to be successful at your job would have to be affable, know everybody, have a winning personality, be persuasive.”

  “A man with those qualities would do well even in the legal profession,” Harry said, smiling.

  “But they are the necessary qualities for your job, I take it. Now how long have you known Mr. Bowman?”

  “About three years, I think.”

  “How did you come to meet him?”

  “One day I was in the bank with a friend and I was introduced to him and then on and off I would see him at the ball games or at the hockey games and sometimes at the fights.”

  “He was very fond of sport and you were too. Was that the basis of your friendship?”

  “No, I liked him the first time I met him. He had a kind of dignity, a simple integrity, a wonderfully kind open simple friendliness,” he said slowly.

  “Qualities rarely found in your world, I take it?” Ouimet said dryly.

  “Very rare in any world,” Harry said simply.

  “And you knew that this honest bank manager, making six thousand a year, admired you?”

  “I knew he liked me, as I liked him.”

  “And being fond of sport you knew that he had a naive admiration for champions, sporting figures and great entertainers, the kind of people you ran into every day, and did you ask him why he didn’t drop into Dorfman’s?”

  “I knew he would like sitting around listening to the gossip.”

  “In this world of easy money, I suppose this bank manager was impressed by these celebrated figures, and Dorfman’s is a famous old expensive restaurant catering to the elite, isn’t it?” Among the spectators, Eddie Adams, Haggerty and Ted Ogilvie in their row looked at each other with a new and grave respect.

  “He only came there about once a week, and sometimes he brought his wife.”

  “Of course,” Ouimet agreed sympathetically. “It was a little out of his reach, but he felt at home with you and your friends. It was a big thing for him, wasn’t it? In truth, between us, wasn’t he a little stage-struck?”

  “Well, maybe he had a naive admiration for some famous visiting firemen who weren’t good enough to lace his shoes.”

  “The methodical banker, twenty years older than you, with a wife and two children, living in the suburbs, was secretly stage-struck, wouldn’t you say?”

  “Any time I was ever around,” Harry said, wondering at how Ouimet had got so close to the truth, “I could see that he was liked and respected for what he was in himself.”

  “I see,” Ouimet said, leaning amiably on the rail of the jury box so he could join with the jurors in watching Harry. “To come back to this rainy day . . .”

  “It wasn’t raining, it was snowing a little.”

  “Oh, that’s it. You want to be accurate. Good. You had just come from a funeral parlor. No?”

  “That’s true. Old Professor McLean had died.”

  “And when you ran into Mr. Bowman what did you say you had been doing in the funeral parlor?”

  “You want me to remember the jokes?” Harry asked impatiently, and Henderson rose and said he didn’t see the relevancy of the question, and Ouimet protested sharply that it had to do with the character of the witness. “I’m not sure myself where this is leading,” the judge said, and he started to cough. His left nostril began to run and he wondered why he had wasted his time trying a preventive like lemon juice and baking soda. “Continue, continue,” he said irritably. “And speak up, please.”

  “I joked with Mr. Bowman. I said I was a public-relations man for half the city. About thirty-six old classmates had phoned me, knowing I’d be going to the funeral parlor, and they asked me to sign their names on the book.” Everybody snickered.

  “I hope I wasn’t one of those who phoned you,” the judge said brightly.

  “Not that I recall,” he said gravely; then he laughed.

  “Your friends are all a bit cynical,” Ouimet said.

  “No, they knew I’d be at the funeral parlor.”

  “And they knew you’d go through the cynical performance of making it look to the dead man’s family as if they had come to pay their respects.”

  “Well, I was there, so I wasn’t cynical,” he said uneasily. Ouimet’s little smile and the glitter in his pale-blue eyes made him stiffen. “Well, now you and Mr. Bowman, standing on the street, have joked and you’ve told your cynical little story. Now how did the subject of the loan come up?”

  “Well, I was feeling good. I knew I was going to make some money on the stock. I trusted Mr. Bowman. I told him about it.”

  “By the way, have you anyone else to support but yourself on your thirteen thousand a year?”

  “No, sir.”

  “A free spender, easy come, easy go, I suppose,” Ouimet said indulgently. “You go to New York to see the big fights, and to the World Series, and see all the new plays, eh?”

  “Now — now — now . . .” the judge warned Ouimet.

  “Surely it’s important to establish the nature of Mr. Bowman’s relationship with the witness — the fact that he saw the places and did the things Mr. Bowman only dreamed about,” Ouimet protested.

  “Well, only as to his credibility,” the judge said. “Never mind these beautiful pictures of the witness.”

  “Only as to his credibility,” Ouimet said, turning to Harry. “You’ve told your good admiring and stage-struck friend, who happens to be a banker, that you need money, eh?”

  “Quite the opposite. I told him I was going to make some money, and he saw how I coul
d make a lot more.”

  “And finally he mentioned the loan, eh? That is to say, you let him mention it first. That’s good salesmanship, isn’t it?”

  “What was I supposed to be selling?”

  “Isn’t that the art of letting the customer come to you?” Ouimet asked blandly.

  “I wouldn’t know. It isn’t my style. Naturally, the question of security came up.”

  “With you raising the obstacles, of course?”

  “I saw the objections. Yes.”

  “You put up the obstacles, and he came leaping over them — should I say eagerly?”

  “No, you should be accurate. Let’s say there seemed to be no objections to him.”

  “Let’s get the picture straight,” Ouimet said with an amused smile. “This banker influenced you to take a loan from him?”

  “He didn’t influence me. I said it was his suggestion.”

  “And I suppose it was also his suggestion you go to McCanse, and McCanse would let you have the stock, trusting you?”

  “Well, yes, he did,” Harry said reluctantly.

  “And you would have been shocked if he had told you he hadn’t got the loan approved?”

  “There wouldn’t have been any loan.”

  “He was afraid to tell you the money was tainted — afraid you’d let him down by not taking it?”

  “If that’s the way you want to put it.”

  “Really,” Ouimet said softly, and then he turned to the jury and some of them tried not to smile. Harry looked around and saw that they all believed that in trying to protect himself he had gone too far and was willing to blame Scotty for everything. In the last row of spectators his own friend Ted Ogilvie, astonished and disappointed, had leaned close to Eddie Adams to whisper, and Scotty’s wife, her mouth trembling, had turned to the elderly man who held her arm. Nobody believed him. Bewildered, he turned half pleading as he looked at Mollie Morris at the press table. Leaning back in her chair she tapped her teeth with her pencil, and as their eyes met she slumped in her chair and let her chin fall on her chest, dejected.

  “Mr. Bowman will stand here and tell exactly the same thing,” he said angrily.

  “Are all your friends anxious to do you favors?”

  “I don’t go around with my hat in my hand,” he said straightening up with his distinguished air. But someone had snickered. There was a little titter and the titter spread and there was a scraping of feet and everybody was smiling. Banging his gavel the judge threatened to have the courtroom cleared. Turning suddenly Harry stared at Scotty, the whole swing of his body angry and challenging. But Ouimet took advantage of this deftly, “Oh, let me reassure you,” he said sarcastically, “Mr. Bowman may still believe that all the suggestions came from him, even if he’s somewhat bewildered at how it could happen that he found himself doing — shall we call it — this favor?”

  “At no time did I ask him to do me a favor.”

  “Oh, come now, surely by this time you’ll have to admit that Mr. Bowman was trying to help you out — just a little — be generous.”

  “As I understood it,” Harry said doggedly, “it was a loan to be acceptable to the bank in every way. Who gets loans from the bank by way of a favor? Is that the only way you, yourself, can get a loan?”

  “Ah, now, let me ask the questions.”

  “Well, stop distorting everything I say.”

  “The witness shouldn’t lose his temper,” the judge said mildly.

  “Let’s go on,” Ouimet said softly. “You admit you didn’t use money as a bait?”

  “I certainly didn’t. It wasn’t at all necessary.” Taking out his handkerchief he wiped his mouth. It felt dry, and he moistened his lips, and said truthfully, “I asked if it was to be a regular loan, an approved loan, and it was as far as I was concerned.”

  “You didn’t use money as a bait — but you did use friendship, knowing this stage-struck manager believed completely in his distinguished friend.”

  “If I’m supposed to be the distinguished friend, that’s absurd.” Then he added slowly, “Mr. Bowman is a shrewd man — a banker — a much shrewder businessman than I am.”

  He couldn’t take his eyes off Ouimet’s feet. The black and shiny shoes were very narrow and sharply pointed and Harry despised such shoes.

  “A shrewd man,” Ouimet said, his tone changing. Dropping the soft insinuations he came closer, coldly aggressive, and Harry hated him. “If you were a clever man, a little cynical and reckless with money . . .” Ouimet began.

  “Now, now,” the judge complained. “Counsel should make his speeches to the jury and not to the witness.”

  “I’m sorry,” Ouimet said, bowing deferentially, and then he whirled on Harry. “I put it to you that you were looking for money, that you knew that no bank in town would give you a loan on such security.”

  “It’s not true.”

  “I suggest to you that you went to work on Bowman and he told you he doubted the head office would approve the loan.”

  “It’s not true.”

  “And knowing he trusted you completely, didn’t you insist that only three or four days were involved and you weren’t asking him to take much risk and you wouldn’t let him down?”

  “It’s absolutely untrue,” Harry said.

  “And didn’t you appeal to his friendship and faith in you when he spoke of getting the loan approved by the head office?”

  “I did not.”

  “Don’t you see, even now, that you simply took advantage of his strong sense of friendship — that he was a dupe?”

  “That he was a dupe — really! Nothing of the kind. There’s not a word of truth in it. I tell you I was completely in the dark.”

  “But now isn’t there enough light for you to see that if it could be shown that you collaborated on getting this loan that you’d be here charged with conspiracy?”

  “You know why I’m not charged with conspiracy. He’ll stand here in his turn and tell you.”

  “Have you still got that much confidence in your influence over Mr. Bowman?” Ouimet asked, smiling as if Harry had said what he wanted him to say. “Well, that’s all. Thank you.”

  But Harry stood there, troubled and yet grim, then half turning to the judge, he hesitated.

  “Is there something the witness wishes to say?” the judge asked.

  “There is,” Harry said, with dignity. “There’s one fact that may have been lost sight of and rather deliberately, I’m afraid. The root of the whole matter. And it is this: I was not told that this loan did not meet the requirements of the head office and that it had been misrepresented.” As Ouimet got to his feet, protesting, he raised his voice. “And Mr. Bowman will stand here and tell you I was kept absolutely in the dark —”

  “A speech, this is a speech,” Ouimet cried, and in the hubbub the judge pounded his gavel. When Harry stepped down Ouimet, recovering himself, smiled. “I can sympathize with the witness wanting to make a speech to the jury. He seems to think that he and not Mr. Bowman is on trial. Oh, I won’t ask that he be recalled,” he said, and Harry, after turning belligerently, went to the seat near the door where he had left his overcoat. There, he stared at Scotty and waited confidently for him to take the stand.

  But Ouimet, having made exactly the impression he wanted to make on the jury, turned blandly to the judge and said almost idly that he wasn’t putting Mr. Bowman on the stand; he didn’t think it was necessary.

  Harry half rose, his mouth opened in astonishment; his face turned a dull brick red and he slumped back on the bench while Henderson began his address to the jury.

  Reviewing the facts without any harshness, Henderson pointed out that there was no question but that there had been an admission of wrongdoing. The jurors should not be confused in judging the nature of the bank manager’s guilt. He had fraudulently misrepresented the loan to the head office. That he might on one particular occasion have been influenced by another man had nothing to do with his guilt or innocence . .
. And Harry kept staring at Scotty, despising him. Scotty took out his handkerchief, wiped his face, then his eyes wandered around the room and finally were drawn to Harry. Their eyes met and then it seemed to Harry that Scotty was pleading with him, saying with his eyes, “Please don’t be sore. You’re established and so well liked and popular. In a little while this won’t matter to you.” It upset Harry and he waited for Henderson to finish and Ouimet to begin.

  Ouimet had a conversational, intimate style. He hardly raised his voice; he took the jurors into his confidence. He talked movingly about Scotty’s family life and how he was respected by everyone who knew him. “Now we come to Harry Lane.” Every time he used the name all the spectators turned and looked at Harry thoughtfully. His hands clenched on the seat ahead of him, he kept bending down pressing his chin against his knuckles, his face flushed.

  “You saw Harry Lane,” Ouimet said. “Of course, he’s not the kind of businessman Mr. Bowman dealt with every day, a man of charm and grace. Mr. Bowman was very fond of this man. If Mr. Bowman committed a crime, why did he do it? Out of avarice? Oh no. What was there in it for him? He was very vulnerable to his dashing friend. Now you are men of common sense. At some time in your lives you may have been running around wanting to borrow money. Well, can you really imagine that the idea of a loan came from Mr. Bowman, that all the suggestions came from him, that he actually pressed Lane to take the loan when he knew, on the face of it, he was risking his job and his freedom? Does this offend your intelligence? Can’t you see him yielding reluctantly to the corrupting pressure of friendship, saying to himself, ‘It is only for a few days. He won’t let me down.’ And why isn’t the man who took the advantage here in the dock with Mr. Bowman, charged with conspiracy? Because Mr. Bowman still retains his pathetic loyalty to him . . . He takes all the blame.”

  “No,” Harry shouted, and he jumped to his feet, his head caught suddenly in the last rays of the sunlight sweating and shining, and crazy anger in his eyes as he glared at Scotty, and he thought Scotty was also going to stand up and protest for he looked ashamed and miserable, but he didn’t; he shook his head helplessly. Then Harry turned, his hand up, facing the judge, who had been momentarily startled. Ouimet, too, had turned indignantly, caught off balance. The words Harry wanted to use were on the tip of his tongue. “I want to be sworn in again. This is a disgrace. I have something more to say. Mr. Bowman came to me pleading. He knew he could get shares from me. He asked for them. Let me be sworn in again.” But in the moment, the little moment while they were all startled and facing him, his instinct made him aware with a swift frightening clarity of the consequence of such a statement now: it would look as if he had held back through fear of being charged with conspiracy. Ouimet would cry out that Harry Lane should be in the dock too; he had bribed Mr. Bowman with the promise of shares; and Mr. Bowman still could remain silent, for from the beginning he had known if he could get as far as the trial in this way, without being denounced by his friend, free of any resentment or hostility from his friend, his silence could protect him from the sentence he deserved.