Harlequin [antikvár]

ONE George harlequin and I have been friends for twenty years; yet I have to confess he is the one man I have ever truly envied. There was a time when I believe I hated him, and it was only his grace and sanity that cured me. He is everything that I am not. I am big, burly, awkwardly put together, the despair of tailors. He is slim, elegant, a classic horseman, a tennis player beautiful to watch. I am literate enough in one language. Harlequin is a polyglot, formidable in half a dozen. More, he wears a quite prodigious learning with the offhand charm of a Renaissance courtier. I am an antipodean, eager, impulsive, apt to be harsh or simpUstic in my judgments. Harlequin is a European, cool, conciliatory, subtle, patient even with idiots. He was born to money. His grandfather fomided Harlequin et Cie, Merchant Bankers, in Geneva. His father made international alliances and opened branches in Paris, London and New York. Harlequin extended the territory, then inherited the presidency and the largest block of voting shares. The tradition of the house was sacred to him: the character of the client outweighed his collateral; the risk, once taken, would never be abrogated; the contract was never hedged by legal tricks; a handshake was as binding as a formal document; if the chent or his family fell on evil times, the motto of the bank held good: "Amicus certus in re incerta [a sure friend in an uncertain business]." I, on the other hand, began as a huckster, pure and simple. I clawed my way through the metal markets, made money and lost it. La the lean years that fol- 1