I Would Rather Stay Poor

‘I’m sorry to have kept you waiting, Miss Craig,’ Calvin said, aware of the impression he was making on the girl, ‘but it was short notice and I had quite a way to come.’

‘Oh… that’s all right,’ she stammered. ‘I – I didn’t expect… won’t you come in?’

Travers said, ‘Well, I guess I’ll get along. Glad to have met you, Mr. Calvin. Anything I can do, just ask. I’m over the way at the sheriff’s office.’

Calvin shook hands with him, then followed the girl into the bank. Travers walked back to his car.

Calvin shut the door of the bank and looked around. It was very small. There was the usual grill-protected counter. Behind this was a glassed-in office. There was a door near him and another door facing him behind the counter. There was a wooden seat for waiting customers and a table on which stood magazines and a vase of flowers.

Alice Craig watched him. He could see she was making futile efforts to control the deep flush that still stained her face.

‘I’m sorry about Mr. Lamb,’ Calvin said. ‘It must have been a shock for you. I’m sure you want to get home. Suppose you give me the keys and then get off? There’s nothing we can do now until Monday.’

She looked startled.

‘You don’t want to check?’

‘Not right now,’ Calvin said, smiling. ‘I’ll do all that on Monday.’ He moved past her, not looking at her because her embarrassment began to irritate him. He opened the door leading into the manager’s office. It was a nice room with a carpet, an armchair, a handsome-looking desk and a high-backed desk-chair. He went around behind the desk and sat down. Alice came to the door and stood looking helplessly at him.

‘Come in and sit down,’ he said, waving to the armchair. ‘A cigarette?’

‘No, thank you. I – I don’t smoke.’ She came in reluctantly and perched herself on the arm of the chair, looking down at her slim, well-shaped hands.

What a type! Calvin thought. She has as much personality as a potato and she’s as sexless as a nun.

‘Well, now,’ he said, keeping his voice mild and friendly. ‘How about the keys?’

‘They’re in the top drawer on the left,’ she said, still not looking at him.

He opened the drawer and took out a set of keys. They were all neatly labelled.

‘What keys do you hold?’ he asked.

‘I – I have a key to the front entrance as you have and I have a key to the vault. There are two locks on the vault. You have one key and I have the other.’

He smiled at her.

‘So I can’t rob the vault without your permission and you can’t without mine. Is that it?’

She gave a nervous little smile, but he could see the joke as such wasn’t appreciated.

There was a pause, then he asked, ‘Can you give me Mr. Lamb’s address?’

‘The Bungalow, Connaught Avenue. It’s the fourth turning on the right down the main street.’

‘Thanks.’ He made a note of the address on the scratch pad on the desk. ‘How about accommodation in this town? What’s the hotel like?’

She hesitated, then she said, ‘It’s very bad. The best and the most comfortable place is where I’m staying. Mrs. Loring’s rooming-house. The food is very good and it isn’t expensive.’

Calvin realised he had made a mistake by asking her such a question. He had no wish to live where she did, but now, it was impossible for him to turn down her suggestion.

‘Sounds fine. Well, okay, let me have the address.’

‘It’s on Macklin Drive. The end house. It’s about a mile and a half off the Downside highway.’

‘I’ll find it.’ He put the keys in his pocket and stood up. ‘I guess I’ll call on Mrs. Lamb now, then I’ll come on to Macklin Drive.’ He looked curiously at her. ‘How come you don’t live with your parents?’

He saw her flinch.

‘I haven’t any,’ she said. ‘They died in a road accident five years ago.’

‘That’s too bad.’ Calvin cursed himself. He seemed to be asking all the wrong questions. He moved to the door. ‘You lock up. We’ll talk business on Monday. I’m sure we are going to get along fine together.’

It amused him to bring the painful flush to her face. He watched it for a brief moment before walking quickly down the path and along the sidewalk to the car park.

He drove to Connaught Avenue and pulled up outside Joe Lamb’s bungalow. It was made of brick and timber, showing signs of wear.

Calvin sat in the car for several minutes, looking at the bungalow. This was bank property and his possible inheritance. If Lamb died, he would have to move into this depressing box of a place.

He got out of the car, opened the wooden gate and walked up the path. An elderly woman opened the door. She was bemused and tearful. She stared stupidly at him as he introduced himself.

He spent half an hour with her in a gloomy, cramped sitting-room full of heavy depressing furniture. When he finally left, he knew she thought he was wonderful and because this opinion nattered his odd ego, he didn’t begrudge the time spent with her. He had learned that Lamb was desperately ill. There was no possibility of him returning to work for some months.