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.
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