hurried out again and ran to his father's bank. The boy knew that his father wouldn't object to his plan.
"What's the trouble, Frank? What's the reason for your coming?" asked his father looking up from his desk when the boy appeared.
Frank explained the situation to him. He assured his father that it was a clear profit of 30 dollars and he would not do anything special. It was a good opportunity and he was not going to miss it.
Cowperwood senior, approved Frank's plan. Moreover it was not even necessary to instruct him how to act. This was the most business – like attitude he saw in his son. And Frank's father appreciated it very much. Frank was so bright and keen for a boy of 13. So the father counted out 32 dollars. Frank ran out of the building and returned to the auction premises as fast as his legs could carry him. He paid for the soap and it was not a problem for him to cover little transportation expenses.
In an hour he was before the door of Mr. Dalrymple's store with the soap. The owner paid for the goods and thought to himself it was most incredible for such a boy to be in business.
Since that transaction Frank Cowperwood decided to devote his life to business.
3.6.1 Vocabulary notes
to enter into a transaction – заключать сделку
to offer a price – предлагать цену
to take part in the auction – участвовать в аукционе
original price – первоначальная цена
to take into account – принимать во внимание, в расчет
to get a profit – получать прибыль
solidity – твердость
on condition that – при условии
to deliver goods – доставлять груз; поставлять товар
premises – помещение, здание, дом; недвижимость
to cover transportation expenses – покрывать транспортные расходы
to be in business – заниматься торговлей
3.7 Text 7
When I go into a bank I get rattled. The clerks rattle me; the wickets rattle me; the sight of the money rattles me; everything rattles me.
The moment I cross the threshold of a bank and attempt to transact business there, I become an irresponsible idiot.
I knew this beforehand, but my salary had been raised to fifty dollars a month and I felt that the bank was the only place for it.
So I shambled in and looked timidly round at the clerks. I had an idea that a person about to open an account must consult the manager.
I went up to a wicket marked "Accountant." The accountant was a tall, cool devil. The very sight of him rattled me. My voice was sepulchral.
"Can I see the manager?" I said, and added solemnly, "alone." I don't know why I said "alone."
"Certainly," said the accountant and fetched him.
The manager was a grave, calm man. I held my fifty-six dollars clutched in a crumpled ball in my pocket.
"Are you the manager?" I said. God knows I didn't doubt it. "Yes," he said.
"Can I see you," I asked, "alone?" I didn't want to say "alone" again, but without it the thing seemed self-evident.
The manager looked at me in some alarm. He felt that 1 had an awful secret to reveal.
"Come in here," he said and led the way to a private room. He turned the key in the lock.
"We are safe from interruption here," he said. "Sit down."
We both sat down and looked at each other. I found no voice to speak.
"You are one of Pinkerton's men, I presume," he said. He had gathered from my mysterious manner that I was a detective. I knew what he was thinking, and it made me worse.
"No, not from Pinkerton's," I said, seeming to imply that I came from a rival agency.
"To tell the truth," I went on, as if I had been prompted to lie about it, "I am not a detective at all. I have come to open an account. I intend to keep all my money in this bank."
The manager looked relieved but still serious; he concluded now that I was a son of Baron Rothschild.
"A large account, I suppose," he said.
"Fairly large," I whispered. "I propose to deposit fifty-six dollars now and fifty dollars a month regularly."
The manager got up and opened the door. He called to the accountant.
"Mr. Montgomery," he said loudly, "this gentleman is opening an account, he will deposit fifty-six dollars. Good morning."
I rose.
A big iron door stood open at the side of the room. "Good morning," I said and stepped into the safe.
"Come out," said the manager coldly and showed me the other way.
I went up to the accountant's wicket and poked the ball of money at him with a quick convulsive movement as if I were doing a conjuring trick.
My face was ghastly pale.
"Here," I said, "deposit it." The tone of the words seemed to mean, "Let us do this painful thing while the fit is on us."
He took the money and gave it to another clerk.
He made me write the sum on a slip and sign my name in a book. I no longer knew what I was doing. The bank swam before my eyes.
"Is it deposited?" I asked in a hollow, vibrating voice. "It is," said the accountant.
"Then I want to draw a cheque."
My idea was to draw out six dollars of it for present use. Someone gave into a cheque-book through a wicket and someone else began telling me how to write it out. The people in the bank had the impression that I was invalid millionaire I wrote something on the cheque and thrust it in at the clerk. He looked at it.
"What! Are you drawing it all out again?" he asked in surprise. Then I realized that 1 had written fifty-six instead of six. I was too far gone to reason now. I had a feeling that it was impossible to explain the thing. All the clerks had stopped writing to look at me.
Reckless with misery, I made a plunge. "Yes, the whole thing."
"You withdraw your money from the bank?"
"Every cent of it."
"Are you
