doctors usually were agreeable about money. As were mayors, sighed Mayor Harper truthfully to himself, but only to himself.
A short man with white hair lifted a timorous hand as he rose from his seat and began making his way to the front. “You’ll be wanting to talk with me, young man.”
The mayor said, “Ah, yes. May I introduce Horace Arsdale—our banker, Mark.”
After more discussion, endless questions which Skip answered patiently, and then handshaking and introductions all around, he left with Mr. Arsdale clinging to his arm.
Skip’s facial muscles twitched all night in his sleep from strain, but he was at Mr. Arsdale’s bank early the next day, regardless.
Mr. Arsdale beamed as brightly as the spring sun as he retrieved Skip’s check for $45,000 from his desk, with Skip’s parting words ringing majestically in his ears: “This’s just a small token to open the account until the boss transfers building funds, and of course his living funds, from his regular bank.”
Mr. Arsdale had been positively thrilled to approve Phantom’s unsecured loan for a private residence. Everybody knew Phantom. In his mind, Mr. Arsdale feasted on the future delights of a friendship with this international celebrity. Horace M. Arsdale—banker to the stars. Harry and Phantom—pals.
To save time, Skip took Ernie Block, a local builder he’d hired on Mayor Harper’s recommendation, with him when his realty agent, Conrad Harder, Jr., (beloved only son of Mr. Harder the Trustee) drove him to see the first piece of property. Since the property didn’t border Long Island Sound, Skip rejected it immediately.
“I did think I’d mentioned it last night to your dad, Conrad. That we want to be on the water, you know?”
“Ah, you’re right, sir, you did, sir.” Since Conrad was at least twice Skip’s age, Skip had to conceal a grimace at the ‘sir.’
At the next location, Skip got out of the car. Conrad was practically quivering with excitement…not an attractive sight in an older man, thought Skip. Obviously, here was land Conrad ached to sell him.
A grassy twenty foot cliff overlooked a stretch of pristine beach and a view that could soothe the most ragged of nerves. Beyond the beach, the vast Sound stretched, disguising the distant Connecticut shore as a misty Camelot. On this side, the waves hushed and sighed serenely against the sand. The property was vacant except for a large deck made of age-silvered cedar that jutted out over the cliff’s edge and trailed ramshackle steps down to the beach—perfect for al fresco anything. From the vantage point of this deck, Skip turned his back on the water and scanned the property edges. Wide and deep, bordered on the east and west with wooded hills—this lot was within the price range outlined to Mr. Harder, Sr.?
But Conrad confirmed it. Conrad admitted it’d been on the market for years…recession, he explained with embarrassment. Well, Skip could certainly understand tough financial times. They shook hands and Conrad raced back to the office to begin the paperwork, leaving Skip and his builder pacing outlines in the grass.
That same afternoon, a check for earnest money to each of the builder and the realtor was exchanged for special permission from the absent owners to begin building right away, to accommodate Phantom’s pressing schedule. The transaction might have been unconventional, but no one minded.
On the day the bulldozers arrived to start digging the foundation, a tall thin figure, silhouetted against the morning sun, appeared on a hill to the east of the property. Wrapped in black robes being whipped by the breeze, he, or she, stood gazing down on the proceedings.
Eyeing the dark figure uneasily, Skip asked the builder who could this be? Ernie, an easy-going older man with a pot belly, possessed a shrewd intelligence that Skip had quickly learned to trust. He and Ernie had felt at ease with each other’s good sense right from the start.
Ernie
A short man with white hair lifted a timorous hand as he rose from his seat and began making his way to the front. “You’ll be wanting to talk with me, young man.”
The mayor said, “Ah, yes. May I introduce Horace Arsdale—our banker, Mark.”
After more discussion, endless questions which Skip answered patiently, and then handshaking and introductions all around, he left with Mr. Arsdale clinging to his arm.
Skip’s facial muscles twitched all night in his sleep from strain, but he was at Mr. Arsdale’s bank early the next day, regardless.
Mr. Arsdale beamed as brightly as the spring sun as he retrieved Skip’s check for $45,000 from his desk, with Skip’s parting words ringing majestically in his ears: “This’s just a small token to open the account until the boss transfers building funds, and of course his living funds, from his regular bank.”
Mr. Arsdale had been positively thrilled to approve Phantom’s unsecured loan for a private residence. Everybody knew Phantom. In his mind, Mr. Arsdale feasted on the future delights of a friendship with this international celebrity. Horace M. Arsdale—banker to the stars. Harry and Phantom—pals.
To save time, Skip took Ernie Block, a local builder he’d hired on Mayor Harper’s recommendation, with him when his realty agent, Conrad Harder, Jr., (beloved only son of Mr. Harder the Trustee) drove him to see the first piece of property. Since the property didn’t border Long Island Sound, Skip rejected it immediately.
“I did think I’d mentioned it last night to your dad, Conrad. That we want to be on the water, you know?”
“Ah, you’re right, sir, you did, sir.” Since Conrad was at least twice Skip’s age, Skip had to conceal a grimace at the ‘sir.’
At the next location, Skip got out of the car. Conrad was practically quivering with excitement…not an attractive sight in an older man, thought Skip. Obviously, here was land Conrad ached to sell him.
A grassy twenty foot cliff overlooked a stretch of pristine beach and a view that could soothe the most ragged of nerves. Beyond the beach, the vast Sound stretched, disguising the distant Connecticut shore as a misty Camelot. On this side, the waves hushed and sighed serenely against the sand. The property was vacant except for a large deck made of age-silvered cedar that jutted out over the cliff’s edge and trailed ramshackle steps down to the beach—perfect for al fresco anything. From the vantage point of this deck, Skip turned his back on the water and scanned the property edges. Wide and deep, bordered on the east and west with wooded hills—this lot was within the price range outlined to Mr. Harder, Sr.?
But Conrad confirmed it. Conrad admitted it’d been on the market for years…recession, he explained with embarrassment. Well, Skip could certainly understand tough financial times. They shook hands and Conrad raced back to the office to begin the paperwork, leaving Skip and his builder pacing outlines in the grass.
That same afternoon, a check for earnest money to each of the builder and the realtor was exchanged for special permission from the absent owners to begin building right away, to accommodate Phantom’s pressing schedule. The transaction might have been unconventional, but no one minded.
On the day the bulldozers arrived to start digging the foundation, a tall thin figure, silhouetted against the morning sun, appeared on a hill to the east of the property. Wrapped in black robes being whipped by the breeze, he, or she, stood gazing down on the proceedings.
Eyeing the dark figure uneasily, Skip asked the builder who could this be? Ernie, an easy-going older man with a pot belly, possessed a shrewd intelligence that Skip had quickly learned to trust. He and Ernie had felt at ease with each other’s good sense right from the start.
Ernie
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