it was dreadful. When
we were poor my father had never been in debt. But when he launched out
into business on a large scale, he had to incur liabilities. When the
business went into liquidation he owed more money than Mr Mangan had
given him.

MRS HUSHABYE. Bit off more than he could chew, I suppose.

ELLIE. I think you are a little unfeeling about it.

MRS HUSHABYE. My pettikins, you mustn't mind my way of talking. I was
quite as sensitive and particular as you once; but I have picked up
so much slang from the children that I am really hardly presentable. I
suppose your father had no head for business, and made a mess of it.

ELLIE. Oh, that just shows how entirely you are mistaken about him. The
business turned out a great success. It now pays forty-four per cent
after deducting the excess profits tax.

MRS HUSHABYE. Then why aren't you rolling in money?

ELLIE. I don't know. It seems very unfair to me. You see, my father
was made bankrupt. It nearly broke his heart, because he had persuaded
several of his friends to put money into the business. He was sure it
would succeed; and events proved that he was quite right. But they all
lost their money. It was dreadful. I don't know what we should have done
but for Mr Mangan.

MRS HUSHABYE. What! Did the Boss come to the rescue again, after all his
money being thrown away?

ELLIE. He did indeed, and never uttered a reproach to my father. He
bought what was left of the business--the buildings and the machinery
and things--from the official trustee for enough money to enable my
father to pay six-and-eight-pence in the pound and get his discharge.
Everyone pitied Papa so much, and saw so plainly that he was an
honorable man, that they let him off at six-and-eight-pence instead
of ten shillings. Then Mr. Mangan started a company to take up the
business, and made my father a manager in it to save us from starvation;
for I wasn't earning anything then.

MRS. HUSHABYE. Quite a romance. And when did the Boss develop the tender
passion?

ELLIE. Oh, that was years after, quite lately. He took the chair one
night at a sort of people's concert. I was singing there. As an amateur,
you know: half a guinea for expenses and three songs with three encores.
He was so pleased with my singing that he asked might he walk home with
me. I never saw anyone so taken aback as he was when I took him home and
introduced him to my father, his own manager. It was then that my father
told m