Free The Power of the Dead by Henry Williamson Page A

come.”
    “Have you decided anything about giving the men notice?”
    “Well, we haven’t had time to consider the matter deeply, as a matter of fact. Hold on, Fiennes wants to say something.”
    “I’ll come with Tim,” said Fiennes. “I want to get my hair cut.”
    “Do you want any cash for it?”
    “No, I can get it out of the till. We’ll be with you inside half an hour.”
    Phillip telephoned Lucy. “Are the Iron Horses coming back, d’you know? Well, please telephone Johnson, and tell him the cheque is in the post. Try to get him to return his tackle this evening.”
    He waited in the town until the Trojan ground its way up the hill. Fiennes got out and went to the hairdresser’s.
    “Do you write down what you take privately from the till, Tim?”
    “Well, not altogether, Phil.”
    “Then how d’you know whether or not anyone takes money from it?”
    “Well, we don’t think anyone would—except ourselves, of course.”
    “Why isn’t there any record of money put in and taken out?”
    “We’re supposed to write it down, but Fiennes said the books got behind-hand, so there seemed no point in bothering about the till.”
    “Who signs cheques?”
    “Oh, any one of us.”
    “No weekly balance struck?”
    “The fact is, I attempted it, when Fiennes wouldn’t, but having to work all the time on the bench, I got behind with it. I have tried, I assure you, to keep things in order, but somehow they have got beyond me lately. I’ve got all the data you want, here in my bag—what we owe, and what is owing to us.”
    “Good. We must put the accounts in order together, Tim.”
    “You can absolutely count on me for anything whatsoever, Phil! By the way, the others categorically agree that you can be Managing Director.”
    “Here’s sixpence. Go into that coffee shop over there and balance up your accounts. You know, Creditor on one side, Debtor on the other.”
    “Who are we, in this context, Phil? Debtor or Creditor?”
    “It doesn’t matter. On one side add up a list of What we are owed, if anything, and in another column, What we owe. That means wages, bills, everything you have to pay out.”
    “Well, we can’t pay out anything at the moment, Phil, I’m afraid——”
    “Your debts, Tim,” said Phillip, tersely but quietly. “Your liabilities. Such as the writ on the way to you for that eight-cwt. cast-iron louvre for the Gasworks down there, that nobody wants. Sixty pounds, plus twenty pounds costs. Put eighty pounds in the column What we owe. ”
    “Good lord, I’d forgotten that cursed louvre.”
    “Eighty pounds, What we owe. Now do this while I see the bank manager. Can you occupy yourself in the coffee house meanwhile? Wait a moment. Perhaps you’d better introduce me to the bank manager, and tell him that I now have the necessary authority. He’ll want it in writing, I expect.”
    The bank manager was a short man with a greying beard. He received them kindly in his office. Tim left after the introduction, when Phillip asked the manager to speak frankly. The manager said he was sorry for the brothers, but the position was that they were overdrawn in the neighbourhood of one hundred pounds, on no security. Their receipts did not balance their expenditure. It wasn’t his affair to offer advice without it being requested, Mr. Maddison would understand; but he must say that he was glad someone was taking the matter in hand. He suggested that no more cheques be signed, as they would, he regretted, have to be marked Estopped, Refer to Drawer.
    “They’ll bounce, in other words?”
    The bank manager went on to say that he would require the partners to sign a paper relegating their powers of signature to him, giving him power of attorney. The manager, after a moment’s reflection, then asked Phillip if it were his intention to assume personal financial responsibility?
    “Yes.”
    “You will, I am sure, forgive my asking, but are you prepared to lodge securities with us, should