It wasn't long before the wife of the hotel owner got wind of the shenanigans going on between her husband and myself and, giving me a minute's notice, she ordered me off the premises. In all haste I presented myself at the bank and asked a toffee-nosed clerk if I could have a moment with Mr. Scott, the manager.
'Only if you have an appointment,' he said, adding, 'which I doubt very much.' He then looked down at his ledger as if I didn't exist.
'You,' I said haughtily as I prodded him with my finger. 'You tell Mr. Scott that Miss Tully wishes to speak to him at once and if you don't I will march into his office and tell him myself. Now look sharp, I haven't got all day to wait on the likes of you!'
He sat there aghast that I dared to speak to him in this manner and he gaped at me open-mouthed.
'Well?' I demanded. 'Are you going to get yourself off that stool and tell him, or should I do it myself?'
As if in a daze he stumbled to the manager's office and returned looking very subdued and told me very respectfully that Mr. Scott would see me at once.
Scotty, for that was how I often addressed him when I bounced up and down on him as he lay beneath me, patted me on the hand when I related what had happened at the hotel.
'Leave this to me, dear,' he said. 'When they bought the hotel they had to raise a very large loan from this bank. I can demand the return of that money anytime I wish to do so.'
He rose from his chair and putting on his overcoat said, 'I'll go along now and have a quiet talk with them. Make yourself comfortable in my chair and wait here until I get back. In the meantime I will instruct my clerk to bring you a pot of tea and some biscuits.'