“You don’t, by any chance, mean Bultiwell’s?”
The accountant’s manner became more earnest. He had the air of one who releases a great secret.
“Don’t mention it, Pratt, whatever you do,” he begged. “Mr. Bultiwell would probably be besieged by applications from people who would be quite useless to him.”
“I shall not tell a soul,” Jacob promised.
“You see,” his companion went on, watching the ash of his cigar for a moment, “the Mortimers and the Craigs have both come to an end so far as regards participation in the business. Colonel Craig was killed playing polo in India, and had no sons, and old Mortimer, too, had only one son, who went into the diplomatic service. That leaves Mr. Bultiwell the sole representative of the firm, and though he has, as you know, a great dislike for new associations, it is certainly too much responsibility for one man.”
“The Mortimer and Craig interests have had to be paid out, I suppose?” Jacob enquired.
“To a certain extent, yes,” Mr. Pedlar admitted. “That is where the opportunity for new capital comes in.”
“I have made no plans yet,” Jacob declared, rising to take his leave. “If you like to place the figures before me within the course of the next week or so, and the suggested terms, I might consider the matter—that is, if I decide to go into business at all.”
“I can’t conceive a more comfortable position for a young man with your knowledge of the trade,” Mr. Pedlar said, as he wished his guest good morning. “You shall have all the figures placed before you. Good morning, and once more my heartiest congratulations, Mr. Pratt.”