“Four thousand pounds in the bank.”
“Not much, dad,” said John, slowly, “for a man who last month was worth millions. You’re coming out at the little end of the horn.”
Potts made no reply.
“At any rate there’s one comfort,” said John, “even about that.”
“What comfort?”
“Why, you went in at the little end.”
They walked on in silence.
“You must do something,” said John at last.
“What can I do?”
“You won’t let that fellow ride the high horse in this style, will you?”