Coulson looked at him in a little dismay, and could not repress a sigh. The figures put into words and spoken aloud seemed to indicate so much larger an amount of money than when quickly written down in numerals. But Philip read the countenances, nay, by some process of which he was not himself aware, he read the minds of the brothers, and felt no dismay at what he saw there.
'And the fixtures?' asked John Foster.
'The appraiser valued them at four hundred and thirty-five pounds three and sixpence when father died. We have added to them since, but we will reckon them at that. How much does that make with the value of the stock?'
'Two thousand one hundred and seventy-six pounds, sixteen shillings and eightpence,' said Philip.
Coulson had done the sum quicker, but was too much disheartened by the amount to speak.
'And the goodwill?' asked the pitiless John. 'What dost thee set that at?'
'I think, brother, that that would depend on who came forward with the purchase-money of the stock and fixtures. To some folks we might make it sit easy, if they were known to us, and those as we wished well to. If Philip and William here, for instance, said they'd like to purchase the business, I reckon thee and me would not ask 'em so much as we should ask Millers' (Millers was an upstart petty rival shop at the end of the bridge in the New Town).
'I wish Philip and William was to come after us,' said John. 'But that's out of the question,' he continued, knowing all the while that, far from being out of the question, it was the very question, and that it was as good as settled at this very time.
No one spoke. Then Jeremiah went on:
'It's out of the question, I reckon?'