“Right again; you are getting on. We've somewhere about £50,000 working capital now.”
“We have our books and our music, and... five years of love and... spiritual blessings one doesn't talk about....”
“One piece of property wanting, which is best of all—yourself, Queenie, surely the cleverest, loyalest...”
“You are talking nonsense now, Bert; and are you aware that it is past eleven o'clock? I'll turn out the gas in the dining-room if you will see that the door is fastened.”
“Here is a letter which must have come by the last post and been forgotten; perhaps it's a Christmas card in advance. Let's see. Oh, I say, you've left me in darkness.”
“Come up to our room; we can open it there; very likely it's a bill. Well?”
“I say... Queenie... no, it can't be a hoax... nobody would be so cruel... and here's an enclosure... letter from London bankers confirming... sit down here beside me; we'll read it together... so, as near as you can, and your arm round my neck... just a second before we begin... my eyes are... all right now.”
“Liverpool, December 22, 189—.
“Dear Sir,—It has been my practice, as a man engaged for many years in commercial pursuits, to keep a watchful and, I hope, not unkindly eye upon young firms beginning their business career in Liverpool. For the last five years I have observed your progress with much interest, and you will pardon my presumption and take no offence, when I express my satisfaction, as an old merchant, with your diligence, caution, ability, and, most of all, integrity, to which all bear witness.
“I was therefore greatly grieved to learn that your firm may be hardly pressed next week, and may be in danger of stoppage—all the more because I find no charge of folly can be brought against you, but that you are the indirect victims of one firm's speculative operations. There is no one, I am also informed, from whom you can readily obtain the temporary assistance you require and are morally entitled to receive.