"Now we know what to think, don't we, Mr. Lisle? They've done our thinking for us." Mr. Etheringham smiled quite pleasantly. He was not at all fiery now.
Arthur laid his hand on Mr. Beverley's shoulder. "It's an infernal shame, old chap. I'm most awfully sorry."
"You gentlemen are two of the principal shareholders," Mr. Etheringham went on to Arthur and Joe. "Perhaps you'd like to talk over the situation privately?"
"We're all right as we are—glad of words of wisdom from any of you! How do we stand, Langley?" said Joe, sitting down on the sofa by Miss Layard. "What's the situation?"
"Well, you know that as well as I do. There's the production to be paid—about twelve hundred, I reckon—and we run into about eight hundred a week."
"And what—if any—business shall we play to?"
"You can't tell that. You can only guess—and you'd better not guess high! I should say myself that the money might last a fortnight—possibly three weeks. Some of 'em'll probably look in now and then, you know—and even if we paper the whole house, the bars bring in a bit."
"I'd go a bit more," said Joe, "only the truth is I haven't got a bob—absolutely stony!" He jingled the money in his pocket. "Hear that—it's the last of it!"
"If you think there's any chance," Arthur began eagerly, "I think I could——"
Mr. Willie Spring's eyes came down from the ceiling and sought those of Mr. Etheringham; Mr. Spring also shook his head very slightly and smiled a tired smile.