The Chief's Gift

The Chief's Gift

 Mr. Cowan was the banker at Head Office in the City,
 Dame Flora was the patron and the Chief,
 I was a Guy's student and the fortunate recipient
 Of the Alfred Rycroft Traveling Scholarship.

 The message on the board was indicated by the porter
 In the East Wing Students' Union at Guy's
 It had my name upon it, “Mr. Cowan” and then a number,
 That I should call was all I could surmise.

 I picked up the receiver, dropped in coins and dialed the number
 Upon asking I got through to Cowan straight.
 And his lilting voice repined that I “..should come away and find
 The Bank of Scotland here in Bishopsgate.”

 The 2A bus took London Bridge, I caught it at the station,
 Crossed the Thames and rode into the bank,
 I thought about what had been said, “A wee something for you!”
 And wondered who it was I had to thank.

 The edifice was massive, the hall within was lavish
 With marble floors and pillars by some stairs,
 And a famous oil painting was hanging there between them,
 No doubt a gift from some great clients of theirs.

 Inquiring at the counter I immediately was prompted
 To wait a moment while she made a call,
 And it was not long at all, before I heard the fall
 Of an escort's steps, to “take me to the ball.”

 We went up those stairs into an anti chamber,
 “Please wait hear!  Mr. Cowan won't be long.”
 The door beyond then opened and in strode the banker
 With a golden handshake that was firm and strong.

 “Dame Flora”, he remarked, “is a client here of ours,
 And as to America you are going away.
 She wanted you to have a little something for you bag
 And a token of esteem, which I convey.

 I looked down at my palm and drawing back my arm
 Could see the dollars safely in my hand.
 “That is how she said to do it.” I was speechless and he knew it,
 The gift was given exactly as she planned.