one on business, wi' prices
and taxes and bread so dear; but John and I are getting into years,
and we've no children to follow us: yet we would fain draw out of
some of our worldly affairs. We would like to give up the shop, and
stick to banking, to which there seemeth a plain path. But first
there is the stock and goodwill of the shop to be disposed on.'

A dead pause. This opening was not favourable to the hopes of the
two moneyless young men who had been hoping to succeed their masters
by the more gradual process of partnership. But it was only the kind
of speech that had been agreed upon by the two brothers with a view
of impressing on Hepburn and Coulson the great and unusual
responsibility of the situation into which the Fosters wished them
to enter. In some ways the talk of many was much less simple and
straightforward in those days than it is now. The study of effect
shown in the London diners-out of the last generation, who prepared
their conversation beforehand, was not without its parallel in
humbler spheres, and for different objects than self-display. The
brothers Foster had all but rehearsed the speeches they were about
to make this evening. They were aware of the youth of the parties to
whom they were going to make a most favourable proposal; and they
dreaded that if that proposal was too lightly made, it would be too
lightly considered, and the duties involved in it too carelessly
entered upon. So the _role_ of one brother was to suggest, that of
the other to repress. The young men, too, had their reserves. They
foresaw, and had long foreseen, what was coming that evening. They
were impatient to hear it in distinct words; and yet they had to
wait, as if unconscious, during all the long preamble. Do age and
youth never play the same parts now? To return. John Foster replied
to his brother:

'The stock and goodwill! That would take much wealth. And there will
be fixtures to be considered. Philip, canst thee tell me the exact
amount of stock in the shop at present?'

It had only just been taken; Philip had it at his fingers' ends.
'One thousand nine hundred and forty-one pounds, thirteen shillings
and twopence.'

Coulson looked at him in a little dismay, and could not repress a
sigh. The figures put into words and spoken aloud seemed to indicate
so much larger an amount of money than when quickly written down in
numerals. But Philip read the countenances, nay, by some process of
which he was not him