ed the transfer office,
where eight gentlemen were sitting. Seven rose, and one did not. Old
Heythorp raised a saluting hand to the level of his chest and moving to
an arm-chair, lowered himself into it.

"Well, gentlemen?"

One of the eight gentlemen got up again.

"Mr. Heythorp, we've appointed Mr. Brownbee to voice our views. Mr.
Brownbee!" And down he sat.

Mr. Brownbee rose a stoutish man some seventy years of age, with little
grey side whiskers, and one of those utterly steady faces only to be
seen in England, faces which convey the sense of business from father
to son for generations; faces which make wars, and passion, and free
thought seem equally incredible; faces which inspire confidence, and
awaken in one a desire to get up and leave the room. Mr. Brownbee rose,
and said in a suave voice:

"Mr. Heythorp, we here represent about L14,000. When we had the pleasure
of meeting you last July, you will recollect that you held out a
prospect of some more satisfactory arrangement by Christmas. We are now
in January, and I am bound to say we none of us get younger."

From the depths of old Heythorp a preliminary rumble came travelling,
reached the surface, and materialised--

"Don't know about you--feel a boy, myself."

The eight gentlemen looked at him. Was he going to try and put them off
again? Mr. Brownbee said with unruffled calm:

"I'm sure we're very glad to hear it. But to come to the point. We
have felt, Mr. Heythorp, and I'm sure you won't think it unreasonable,
that--er--bankruptcy would be the most satisfactory solution. We have
waited a long time, and we want to know definitely where we stand; for,
to be quite frank, we don't see any prospect of improvement; indeed, we
fear the opposite."

"You think I'm going to join the majority."

This plumping out of what was at the back of their minds produced in
Mr. Brownbee and his colleagues a sort of chemical disturbance. They
coughed, moved their feet, and turned away their eyes, till the one who
had not risen, a solicitor named Ventnor, said bluffly:

"Well, put it that way if you like."

Old Heythorp's little deep eyes twinkled.

"My grandfather lived to be a hundred; my father ninety-six--both of
them rips. I'm only eighty, gentlemen; blameless life compared with
theirs."

"Indeed," Mr. Brownbee said, "we hope you have many years of this life
before you."

"More of this than of another." And a silence fell, till old Heythorp
added: "You'