the
city whose copper roofs were centuries old and were in such bad repair
that they caused the inmates of the nunnery great discomfort whenever
it rained, but that as no funds were available nothing could be done
about it.
This
gave me an idea. I went to see the prior and suggested an arrangement
whereby my firm in Vienna might undertake to supply new roofs of
galvanised iron (I regret the vandalism, but it must be stated!) and
take in part payment the old copper stripping, waiting generously for
the balance due on the transaction to be paid at some convenient date
later.
Only
twice in my life have I had business dealings with Jesuit priests. In
each case I found my man so keen and astute that I have the greatest
respect for Jesuit business acumen.
"If
your firm receives the old copper from the cloister, the nunnery and
all the outbuildings in exchange for a galvanised-iron roof," he said,
"it will be doing very well, particularly as the copper is supposed to
contain gold. As for that, it may be a legend, so don't build on that
when you make your calculations."
Nothing
daunted, I set about taking the measurements of all the roofs in
question in order to estimate the amount of copper they would yield and
the area of galvanised iron with which to replace it. Then I wrote to
my firm, and in due course had the felicity of being given a free hand
in the proposed transaction. Thus in the end, before the autumn was
out, the monks and the nuns could sleep securely in their respective
homes however bad the weather —snug under their galvanised-iron
covering—and I had
