12Short and dumpy characterized Mr. McWilly, a man who stretched his grey suit sideways. He wore a full moustache on his thin upper lip. His beady blue eyes chilled in the creepiest way. He looked like a leprechaun on steroids. McWilly spoke in a disquietingly quiet manner. I had to lean forward to strain to hear him. That seemed to be his intention, I'm sure, as it gave him an advantage over the listener. After all, McWilly knew what he was saying and unless you stretched yourself halfway across his desk, you were in the dark, auditorially speaking. Mr. McWilly functioned as my account manager at the bank and I could see he felt like an emperor at court without the requisite courtiers in attendance. But then he had me. And I was all ears. It paid to be all ears when your account manager,
