He was eating a bagel. A grandfather clock stood in one corner.
"I'm thinking about opening an account," Oliver explained.
The man swallowed and raised his coffee mug. "Why?"
"I like your clock." The man gave him a longer look and sipped coffee.
"I bought it at an auction. Never been sorry. Sometimes, you've got to
pay for quality; sometimes you get a deal."
"I like auctions," Oliver said.
"My name is Myron Marsh. I've been called, 'Swampy.' I've been called,
'Mellow.' I prefer, 'Myron.' "
"What! No 'Shorty?' '' The corner of Myron's mouth twitched, but he
said nothing. "O.K., Myron. I'm Oliver Prescott."
"You live around here, Oliver?"
"State Street, near the bridge."
"You know anything about investing?"
"No."
"What kind of money are you talking about?"
"Seventy-two thousand."
"Not a bad start," Myron said. "We could get some good balance with
that." He opened a filing cabinet and handed Oliver a form. "Tell you
what," he said. "Why don't you fill this out and come back with a check
when you're ready. Then we can talk about where you want to go with
this and what we might do."
"Thanks," Oliver said.
"Here's a booklet that explains our fees and general setup.
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