he hockey field.

Presently Hugh came flitting out of the house to hear what had happened.
"One can't work somehow, with all these big things going on," he
apologised. He secured the _Daily News_ while his father and mother read
_The Times_. The voices of the younger boys came from the shade of the
trees; they had brought all their toy soldiers out of doors, and were
making entrenched camps in the garden.

"The financial situation is an extraordinary one," said Mr. Britling,
concentrating his attention.... "All sorts of staggering things may
happen. In a social and economic system that has grown just anyhow....
Never been planned.... In a world full of Mrs. Fabers...."

"Moratorium?" said Hugh over his _Daily News_. "In relation to debts and
so on? Modern side you sent me to, Daddy. I live at hand to mouth in
etymology. Mors and crematorium--do we burn our bills instead of paying
them?"

"Moratorium," reflected Mr. Britling; "Moratorium. What nonsense you
talk! It's something that delays, of course. Nothing to do with death.
Just a temporary stoppage of payments.... Of course there's bound to be
a tremendous change in values...."

Section 4

"There's bound to be a tremendous change in values."

On that text Mr. Britling's mind enlarged very rapidly. It produced a
wonderful crop of possibilities before he got back to his study. He sat
down to his desk, but he did not immediately take up his work. He had
discovered something so revolutionary in his personal affairs that even
the war issue remained for a time in suspense.

Tucked away in the back of Mr. Britling's consciousness was something
that had not always been there, something warm and comforting that made
life and his general thoughts about life much easier and pleasanter than
they would otherwise have been, the sense of a neatly arranged
investment list, a shrewdly and geographically distributed system of
holdings in national loans, municipal investments, railway debentures,
that had amounted altogether to rather over five-and-twenty thousand
pounds; his and Mrs. Britling's, a joint accumulation. This was, so to
speak, his economic viscera. It sustained him, and kept him going and
comfortable. When all was well he did not feel its existence; he had
merely a pleasant sense of general well-being. When here or there a
security got a little disarranged he felt a vague discomfort. Now he
became aware of grave disorders. It was as if he discovered he had been