Peter lit up; took the chair at the side of the desk; asked:
“Is your brother Charlie in town?”
“Yes. He’ll be back from lunch in about ten minutes.”
“Good,” said Peter. “I’ve come round to talk business. It’ll save time if you’re both here.”
“Business?” queried the other, letting the monocle drop from his eye-socket. “What sort of business?”
“Tell you when Charlie comes in. How are things in general?” They settled down, Maurice on tenterhooks to find out what Peter could be driving at, to desultory trade-gossip.
“Too much Government control for my liking,” said Maurice. “Still, except for the freights, I’m not grumbling.”
His brother came in: a fat little man with goggly eyes and red hands, one of which he extended cordially to Peter.
“Very glad to see you back, Peter. Very glad indeed. When’s the war going to be over?”
“Peter’s come round to talk business,” interrupted Maurice.