“It’s all U P with us now,” he said. “We’re ruined. That’s about the long and short of it.”
“Rats!” snapped Peter, lighting a cigar.
“The Bank will be down on us for that overdraft. . . .”
“Don’t be a fool. To begin with, they can’t call in any loans. There’s a moratorium. Secondly, if they do want their money, I can pay it. Do you really think I guarantee liabilities I can’t meet?”
“I hadn’t thought of the moratorium,” began Bramson, plucking up courage.
Peter, puffing slowly at his cigar, got over the flash of temper.
“Worried about that thousand of yours?” he queried suddenly.
“No-o. Not exactly. But. . . .”
“You are worried. Of course you’re worried. So am I. So’s everybody else. Let me remind you that I’ve got twelve thousand pounds in the concern, in addition to that confounded overdraft. But we shan’t either of us save our money by worrying. For goodness’ sake, pull yourself together, man. Let’s have a look at last month’s figures. . . .”
Bramson went to the safe; opened it; took out some papers “Get a pencil,” said Peter, “and write down what I tell you. . . . Ready. . . . Right. . . . Now then: Assets . . .” He dictated steadily; picking out the amounts from the big type-written statement. “Liabilities. . . .” The dictation continued. “That’s the lot, I think. Add them up please.”