It was in the late summer of 1880 that a message arrived from Hamburg which would alter the course of Kuhn’s business. Gormally had been at his desk since before eight, entering the previous day’s transactions into the ledger, when the boy from Cornhill arrived with the first bundle of telegrams. Most were of the usual kind – small adjustments, enquiries, acknowledgements – but one, marked urgent, he read several times before passing it on.
Kuhn took it, glanced, and set it aside. He finished with the others first, marking them in pencil, dictating replies without emotion. Only when the bundle was cleared did he return to the Hamburg telegram. “Read it,” he said, passing it back. Gormally did so, this time aloud.
REQUIRE FOUR HUNDRED TONS FINE CHESHIRE IMMEDIATE SHIPMENT FOR CURING STOP REPLY URGENT
“Herring, I'd suppose” he said. An unexpectedly large catch for the time of year?
“Seems so,” replied Kuhn. “It would spoil quickly in this heat.”
Both men instinctively felt the thing. Hamburg was short. Liverpool had not yet spoken. Between the two there lay a margin, if it could be taken quickly enough. “We could offer,” he said.
Kuhn did not answer at once. He placed the paper on the desk. “At what price?” he asked.
Gormally named a figure. It was not extravagant, but it assumed that Liverpool would not move against them before the answer came back. “And freight?” said Kuhn. “Steady,” said Gormally. “If we move this morning.”
“Very well,” said Kuhn. “We will offer. But you will not bind us beyond what is written.” Gormally nodded. He took up a form and began to write, choosing his words with care. He had done this so many times over his years with Kuhn.
OFFER FOUR HUNDRED TONS FINE CHESHIRE PROMPT SHIPMENT STOP PRICE AS ADVISED LESS TWO PERCENT STOP REPLY IMMEDIATELY STOP
He read it through once, then passed it to Kuhn, who made a small alteration – striking out PROMPT and writing EARLY above it – before handing it back. “Send it,” he said. Gormally folded the form and gave it to the office boy, who was gone at once, down the stairs and into the street, running as Gormally himself had run not so long before.
The room settled again into its quiet rhythm. A broker called, stayed a few minutes, and went. A letter was brought in and answered. The clock on the mantelpiece marked the quarter hours with soft chimes. It was a little after ten when the reply came.
The boy entered without knocking as was the custom in their firm, breathless. Gormally thanked him graciously, took the paper and read it.
ACCEPT YOUR OFFER CONDITION SHIPMENT WITHIN FOURTEEN DAYS STRICT STOP
The words were few, but they carried more than they said. Responsibility.
He handed it to Kuhn who read it once, then again. “They add a condition,” he said.
Gormally did not immediately reply. The phrase lay between them: condition shipment within fourteen days strict. Was it a qualification, or merely a statement of what was in any case expected? Fourteen days was customary in a trade of this kind.
“They accept,” said Gormally at last. Kuhn looked at him.
“They accept,” Gormally repeated, more firmly. “And state their requirement.”
“They make their acceptance dependent upon it,” said Kuhn. “That is not the same thing.”
Gormally hesitated. He could see, as Kuhn saw, the other reading; but he could also see the market closing, the margin narrowing even as they spoke. If they treated this as a counter-offer, and replied again, time would be lost. Hamburg might go elsewhere. Liverpool might move.
“If we delay, we lose it," said Gormally.
Kuhn said nothing.
Gormally pressed the point. “Fourteen days is achievable. If we secure loading at once.”
“And if we do not?” said Kuhn. Gormally did not answer. Finally, Kuhn set the paper down. “You will answer,” he said. “With caution.”
Gormally took up another form. For a moment his pen hovered, as though the words might choose themselves. Then he wrote:
CONFIRMED AS AGREED STOP SHIPMENT WITHIN FOURTEEN DAYS STOP
He omitted the term 'STRICT'. Kuhn read it; for a moment it seemed he might object. Then he nodded once.
“Send it,” he said, a slight hesitancy in Kuhn's voice hinted at some vague misgivings he might have harboured about this transaction, though what it was he could not tell.
The boy was gone again, the paper in his hand.
Part III tomorrow.
This time two years ago:
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Corporate profits – better than Bolshevism.
This time three years ago:
Intimations of Immortality, revisited.
This time six years ago:
Things will never be the same Pt II
This time seven years ago:
Up to my waist
This time eight years ago:
Luton Airport's never-ending modernisation works
This time 11 years ago:
Another office move
This time 12 years ago:
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This time 14 years ago:
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[Today's top temperature was 29°C]
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This is not America. No?
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