“Besides,” I said, as a cheering thought struck me, “if I want to I can get an accountant to go through all these books and report on them. I might be able to understand his report.”
“I don’t know,” said Welfare doubtfully, “but what I could explain these books better to you than what I could to one of them professional gentlemen. You see, they want things shown by their own method, which ain’t applicable to our business, as you say yourself. And they want vouchers which you can’t get in our business.”
“Vouchers? Oh no, of course not!”
Whatever vouchers might be, I felt I should greatly dislike them.
“I’m glad you feel yourself we hadn’t ought to produce vouchers. How can you get a receipt from a native what can’t write his own language, let alone any proper one?”
“No, that’s obvious,” I agreed.
“Well, I just wanted you as a partner to feel you had access to everything, and to know you were perfectly satisfied. Now this,” he added, turning up a page in a smaller book, “this is an idea of my own. Just to show you we are running everything on sound business lines. This is the Depreciation Account on the Astarte.”
“Oh!” I said, trying hard to make the monosyllable sound intelligent and interested.
“Yes; every year we write so much off her value. In a few years’ time she’ll be depreciated away to nothing.”
“Oh! I hope not,” I said in alarm at the idea of a few gaunt ribs representing all that was left of the good ship.