Finn had to stretch across the desk to shake it. It seemed the bond between the two men occurred almost instantly, and Delia couldn’t deny it. Bertie was right. Finn embodied the gallant, dashing figure that other men admired and aspired to emulate.
Mr. Pollard peppered him with an endless stream of questions. He wanted to know about dogfight maneuvers, the durability of aircraft under fire, and advances in propeller technology. Finn answered them all. Most of his responses were too technical for Delia to follow, but Mr. Pollard seemed captivated by the conversation.
“You know a lot about airplanes,” Finn said.
Mr. Pollard nodded. “I’ve been studying ever since the Wright Brothers got off the ground.” With an effort, Mr. Pollard’s palsied hands gestured to the window across the room. “You see those train tracks out there? That’s how my business began, shipping cargo by train all across America. Then I moved to steamships. I still have my trains, even though shipping generates most of my revenue. I suspect that someday airplanes will be used to transport goods. I probably won’t be alive to see it, but I can’t help dreaming about it.”
“Have you ever been up in the air?” Finn asked.
Mr. Pollard coughed and shook his head. “Heavens, no. My wife cringes even when I climb a staircase. I’m afraid those days are behind me forever.”
“Nah,” Finn said with a good-natured smile. “If you’ve got a good pilot and the right airplane, you don’t have to do anythingexcept enjoy the ride. I’ll take you up sometime. We can make a lap around the Manhattan skyscrapers like you’ve never seen them before.”
A spray of lines appeared on Mr. Pollard’s papery-thin skin as a magnificent smile transformed his face. “I never even considered it, but do you think it’s really possible for me?”
Finn nodded and continued jabbering about flying, and Delia could only watch in dazed admiration. This wasexactlythe effect Bertie had hoped Finn would have on important donors. Glamorizing the war seemed wrong, but if it resulted in a large donation to keep the CRB alive, she’d stay silent.
After twenty minutes of their allotted thirty minutes talking about airplanes, it was time to lock down the donation Bertie needed. Delia pasted a serene expression on her face and interrupted the two men.
“We are so lucky to have Lieutenant Delaney helping us raise funds for Belgium. If it weren’t for your donations to the CRB, he might not be alive today.”
Her observation brought the conversation skidding to a halt. She felt like a spoilsport for interrupting their fun, but she was sent here on a mission, and it was time to secure a hefty donation.
“Ma’am, I know why Bertie sent you.” For the first time, a hint of kindness tinged the old man’s eyes when he looked at her. “I have diverted the limits of my charitable contribution to Liberty Bonds. It is the best way to bring this war to a swift end and stop the suffering.”
“If the relief ships stop sailing, millions of people in Belgium will suffer.”
Mr. Pollard shrugged. “That’s not my war.”
“It’smywar,” Finn said. “A lady named Mathilde risked her life to hide me in her home. The Germans put a bounty on my head, and people were in and out of Mathilde’s house all day long, so I stayed put beneath the floorboards. All day I could hear voicesand people moving around. A couple of times, German soldiers came looking for me, opening cupboards and checking under beds. Their footsteps were inches away from my face.”
A chill raced through Delia, yet Finn spoke in his typically nonchalant manner.
“At night Mathilde pulled up the boards so I could get out. Her kids were fascinated by me and gathered all around. They didn’t know any English, and my French isn’t great, so we couldn’t talk much. But I loved those kids all the same—their eagerness, their curiosity. The little girl was about five or six, and she kept trying to give me her cookies. Imagine that. A kid who didn’t have much to eat saved her cookies to give to me. Mr. Pollard, I’m not fighting for the sake of nine million Belgians. I’m fighting for Mathilde Verhaegen and her three kids.”
Mr. Pollard winced and turned away. He seemed genuinely moved and was surely wise enough to see the point of Finn’s story. That little girl and her family had supplies, including cookies, because of Bertie Hoover. And if Bertie didn’t get a fresh infusion of cash, his humanitarian shipments would grind to a halt.
Mr. Pollard sighed and pushed himself to his feet. He walked to the window and stared out at the freight yard, where trains funneled tons of cargo into the nearby port.
“It may look as if I’m rolling in money,” Mr. Pollard said, “but the truth is I’m not. Everything you see out that window—the train tracks, the boxcars, the steamships—they all have my name on them, yet most of it is owned by banks and investors. They get the first cut of everything I earn. I also have six thousand employees whose wages I must pay, and they’re a tough lot. While it would be nice if I could just snap my fingers so that little girl could get plenty of cookies and bread and jam, I simply don’t have any more funds to give.”
Delia understood enough about corporate financing to believe Mr. Pollard. The man’s spartan office was proof that he didn’t lavish money on himself. The regret carved into his careworn faceconvinced her that his coffers could no longer support a monthly million-dollar donation.
“What if you gave us something besides money?” Finn suggested.
“Such as?”
Finn snatched up his crutches and propelled himself over to the window. “What kind of ship is that?” he asked, pointing to a steamer docked in the harbor across from the freight yard.
“TheAthenais a forty-ton cargo steamship,” Mr. Pollard answered. “It crosses the Atlantic twice a month.”
Finn’s eyes took on a gleam. “If you can’t give Bertie cash, how about you let him use a portion of that cargo ship to send food overseas?”
Delia caught her breath. Partial use of a ship wasn’t as good as a cash donation, but at least they wouldn’t leave empty-handed.
Mr. Pollard frowned. After a moment, he went to a filing cabinet to paw through some paperwork, then barked at his secretary to bring him the file on theAthena. The ticking of the wall clock sounded unbearably loud as they waited for the secretary to return. They waited some more while Mr. Pollard flipped through pages in the file.
A scowl darkened his face as he banged the keys of an adding machine, making careful notations in theAthenapaperwork. He fidgeted and brooded while studying the ledger. Finally, he threw down his pencil. “I can let Bertie use three of theAthena’sstorage compartments with each crossing,” he announced.
