Frenzied Finance
The bank teller in a snippy way said: But I don’t know you, madam!
The woman was red-headed, and she got red-headed in a minute. She said: Oh, yes, you do. I don’t need anyone to identify me. I’m the red-headed hen next door to you whose “imps of boys” are always running across your garden. When you started to town this morning your wife said: Now, Henry, if you want a dinner fit to eat this evening, you’ll have to leave me a little money. I can’t keep this house on Christian Science.
Here is your money, interrupted the paying teller very faintly.
In order that his wife might become better acquainted with business methods, Mr. Ferguson handed $100 to her, and instructed her to deposit it in bank in her own name and pay her bills thereafter with checks.
Several weeks afterward she came to him in a high state of indignation.
George, she said, the other day those people down at the bank wrote me a note and told me I had overdrawn my account—whatever that is—and that I would have to send them $4.75 to balance it. I sent it to them right away, but it didn’t satisfy them. They’re bothering me about it again.
You sent the $4.75?
Yes. Same day.
Well, that’s—by the way, Laura, how did you send it?
I sent them a check for it, of course.
Some few days ago a Louisville banker was approached by an impecunious farmer for a loan. Now at times this banker is deaf for commercial purposes. The farmer was chronically wanting to borrow, and his security was getting shaky. I’d like to borrow five thousand, pleaded the farmer. The banker cupped his hand to his ear and said: Speak a little louder and cut down the amount.
Thousands of girls are sent out into the world with what is called finished educations, who cannot even give a proper receipt for money, to say nothing of drawing a promissory note, a draft or a bill, or understanding the significance and importance of business contracts.
Such a woman presented a check for payment to the paying teller of her bank. He passed it back to her with the request that she be kind enough to indorse it. The lady wrote on the back of the check, I have done business with this bank for many years, and I believe it to be all right. Mrs. James B. Brown.
Another society woman in New York presented a check for payment at the bank, and the teller told her that it was not signed. Oh, do they have to be signed? she replied. What an awful lot of red tape there is about a banking business.
I know of a lady whose husband made a deposit for her in a bank and gave her a check book so that she could pay her bills without annoying him. One day she received a notice from the bank that her account was overdrawn. She went to the bank and told the teller that there must be some mistake about it, because she still had a lot of checks left in her book. She knew so little about business that she thought she could keep drawing any amount until the checks were all gone.
Among the more recent stories of feminine banking is one of a young lady who in a fit of abstraction signed a check, Your loving Susie. A still later anecdote is this, from one of our exchanges:
A fund was being raised in New York for the benefit of sufferers by a great disaster, and a certain rich but illiterate woman was approached upon the subject.
Oh, I shouldn’t mind sending the money, she said, but I do hate to have my name in all the papers.
But that could be easily arranged, said the gentleman who had opened the subject.
Why, yes, of course, remarked the woman, I could send an anonymous check. Why didn’t I think of that before?
Four or five ladies bustled into a private office the other day.
What can I do for you, ladies? asked the banker pleasantly.
Why, began one of the visitors, we are taking up a subscription and we knew you wouldn’t like it if we didn’t give you an opportunity to subscribe.
The banker bowed graciously and asked: And the object? Of course it is a worthy one, or you would not be interested in it.
Yes, sir, replied the spokeswoman, we think it a very worthy object. It is to build a home for aged and indigent widows.
Excellent! Excellent! I shall take pleasure in making you out a check.
Oh, how lovely of you! exclaimed the spokeswoman when she received the bit of paper and read the amount—one hundred pounds. Oh, we didn’texpect to get that much from you. We are ever so much obliged.
So good of him! and similar exclamations were heard as the check was passed around for the admiration of the party.
But, said the lady who handled the check last, you haven’t signed it.
That is because I do not wish my benefactions known to the world, said the banker modestly. I wish to give the check anonymously. And he bowed the ladies out with great dignity.
In a banking office in New Orleans is an aged bookkeeper who began his connection with the business the day it was established. As the years went by, the proprietor, who had started with little, but was extremely close, amassed an enormous fortune. The bookkeeper piled up but a small amount of savings.
At last the twenty-fifth anniversary of the firm and of the bookkeeper’s services came along. He remembered it, but thought no one else would. To his surprise, the proprietor spoke of it at once.
Williams, he said, do you know what day this is?
Our twenty-fifth anniversary, sir.
It is indeed, Williams. And now I have thought to commemorate the event, and I have put in this envelope for you a small gift to express my appreciation of your faithful service.
The bookkeeper, his hopes raised high, took the envelope from his employer and opened it. The token was a photograph of the employer.
Well? demanded the donor, as the other hesitated. What do you want to say about it?
It’s just like you! murmured the bookkeeper. It’s just like you.