Qwilleran studied the banks in wonderment. There were cats, dogs, monkeys, cows, a whale, and one bust of a Scotsman wearing a Glengarry cap and shoulder tartan. He had a large moustache. He looked amiable.
“He looks just like you, darling. Would you like to buy him?” She placed a coin on the Scot’s hand and pressed a lever. He blinked his eyes, raised his arm, and dropped the coin in his pocket.
“What’s it worth?”
“Well… it’s not as old as the others, but it’s American and in good condition. The Germans made a bank with a Scotsman who stuck out his tongue and swallowed the coin. Maggie’s husband thought it was repulsive.”
“Did you say Maggie? Is she selling this collection”
“I’ll phone her and see how much she wants for Kiltie. That’s the name of the Scotsman.”
Qwilleran fed pennies into the various banks until Susan returned and said, “Maggie said she’ll take fifteen hundred for Kiltie. I hope you know that’s a steal.”
Archly he replied, “I don’t want to rob an elderly widow, when she’s down to her last diamond-and-pearl choker.”
“She likes you! She loves your column!” Susan said. “Also, I told her you’re going to help with the telephone auction.”
“I don’t remember volunteering. However… what does it entail?”
“Simply sit at a phone and take bids from collectors all over the United States. With your wonderful voice you can charm the callers into raising their bids…. I’ll get a box for Kiltie.”
On the way to the parking lot with the box under his arm, Qwilleran passed the office of MacWhannell & Shaw and went in to show them his prize.
“Where’d you get that ugly thing?” Big Mac demanded, then added in a milder tone, “Perhaps I shouldn’t say that, because he looks a lot like you.”
“Got a dime? I’ll show you how it works.”
The accountant placed his dime on Kiltie’s hand and pressed the lever. The eyes blinked, and the coin disappeared. “Do I get my dime back?”
“Of course not! This is a bank. Are you a bank robber?”
“That’s some racket you’ve got going, Qwill! Let’s show it to Gordie.” He called his partner on the intercom.
Gordon Shaw was there promptly, “What’s going on?”
“Magic!” said Qwilleran.
Another dime disappeared, and the partner hooted with glee. “Go across the street and show it to Scottie!”
The owner of Scottie’s Men’s Store laughed so hard that his tailor came running from the workroom and happily watched his own dime drop into Kiltie’s pocket.
Qwilleran was enjoying it immensely and decided to rook the guys at the newspaper, then he carried the box into the city room the staff was relaxing for a few minutes after putting the Wednesday edition to bed and before starting the Thursday. They gathered around Kiltie and fished for dimes in their change pockets. The managing editor and the women in the feature department joined the fun, and Arch Riker came from his office to investigate the commotion. Kiltie was such a pleasant fellow that no one objected when he pocketed the money, although Riker suggested it would work equally well with pennies.
Junior Goodwinter called it bank robbery Pickax-style, “Instead of robbing the bank, the bank robs you”
Qwilleran was two dollars richer when he left the building, and teasing him about it became a corporate pastime for the rest of the year.
At the barn, where every new acquisition was dangerous until proved safe, the Siamese sniffed Kiltie’s moustache, blinking eyelids, and moving hand, Yum Yum soon walked away, but Koko scrutinized the bank in his nearsighted, studious way until suddenly alerted. His neck stretched and ears pricked as he detected activity to the east. Someone was coming up the trail from the direction of the art center.
Qwilleran went into the yard to confront the uninvited visitor when he recognized the ten-year-old boy from the McBee farm.
“Culvert! What a pleasant surprise! I think of you daily when I read my thought-for-the-day”
“Oh,” he said.
“What can I do for you?”
“My dad said I could ask you for something.”
“And what might that be?”
“Could you get me Boze’s autograph? Dad says he works at your hotel.”
That posed a problem, and Qwilleran stalled. “It’s not my hotel, tell your dad. It belongs to the K Fund. It just happens to be named after my mother.”
“Oh,” Culvert said dully. Such facts had nothing to do with his urgent mission.
“And it’s no longer a hotel; it’s an inn, which offers a friendlier kind of hospitality.”
“Oh”
“Did you see Boze toss the caber on Saturday?”
He shook his head. “It was in the paper. They talked about it at school.”
“Unfortunately Boze isn’t working this week, so we’ll have to wait and see what happens. How’s everything at school?”
“Okay,” Culvert said, and ran back down the lane.
After thawing something for his dinner, Qwilleran walked to the Old Stone Church on Park Circle, where the genealogy club met. The Lanspeaks were waiting for him at the side door.
“Everyone’s excited about your coming,” Carol said.
“Are they expecting me to stand on my head or do impersonations?”
