"Which has gone bust?" said Pip.
"Not quite. But the shares are down to the bottom mark, and there is no dividend. I believe the thing is sound, and that in a year or two we shall be all right again. Meanwhile—meanwhile, children, I am extremely hard up!"
To people who have never been hungrier than an unpunctual cook can make them, the prospect of actual poverty is always rather sobering. There was a long pause. Presently Pipette slipped a soft and protecting arm round her father's neck.
"Dad," she asked, "why did you buy those queer shares?"
"To get rich quick."
"Why quick?"
"Because"—the doctor hesitated, surveyed his son and daughter rather doubtfully, and finally proceeded—"because human life in general is an uncertain thing, old lady, and my life in particular happens to be—don't choke me, child!"
Pipette's encircling arm had grown suddenly rigid, and her father heard her heart flutter.
"Wh—what do you mean, Daddy?"
"I mean that I possess what insurance companies call 'a bad life.' Nothing serious—slight heart trouble, that's all. I shall have to be careful for a bit, and all will be well. It's the cracked pitcher that lasts longest." Dr. Wilmot had unconsciously dropped into the easy and optimistic tones which he reserved for nervous patients.