Bella's attention was attracted. She too was interested in her bovine way. Mr Stein's attitude was certainly unusual. He held a sheet of paper in one hand, his other hand clutching at his cheek so hard as to make one of his eyes protrude. Both his eyes were fixed on the sheet of paper, incredulous and horror-stricken. 'I say, Vic, what's the matter with the little swine?' suddenly said Lottie, who had at length noticed him. Victoria looked. Stein had not moved. For some seconds all the girls gazed spellbound at the frozen figure in the cashbox. The silence of tragedy was on them, a silence which arrests gesture and causes hearts to beat. 'Lord, I can't stick this,' whispered Cora, 'there's something wrong.' Quickly diving under the counter flap she ran towards the pay box where Stein still sat unmoving, as if petrified. The little group of girls watched her. Bella's stertorous breathing was plainly heard. Cora opened the glass door and seized Stein by the arm. 'What's the matter, Mr Stein?' she said excitedly, 'are you feeling queer?' Stein started like a somnambulist suddenly awakened and looked at her stupidly, then at the motionless girls in the shop. 'Nein, nein, lassen sie doch,' he muttered. 'Mr Stein, Mr Stein,' half-screamed Cora. 'Oh, get out, I'm all right, but the game's up. He's gone. The game's up I tell up. The game's up.' Cora looked at him round-eyed. Mr Stein's idioms frightened her almost more than his German. Stein was babbling, speaking louder and louder. 'Gone away, Burton. Bankrupt and got all the cash. . . . See? You get the sack. Starve. So do I and my vife. . . . Ach, ach, ach, ach. Mein Gott, Mein Gott, was solls. . . .' Gertie watched from the counter with a heightened colour. Lottie and Victoria, side by side, had not moved. A curious chill had seized Victoria, stiffening her wrists and knees. Stein was talking quicker and quicker, with a voice that was not his. 'Ach, the damned scoundrel . . . the schweinehund . . . he knew the business was going to the dogs, ach, schweinehund, schweinehund. . . .' He paused. Less savage his thoughts turned to his losses. 'Two hundred shares he sold me. . . . I paid a premium . . . they vas to go to four . . . ach, ach, ach. . . . I'm in the cart.' Gertie sniggered gently. The idiom had swamped the tragedy. Stein looked round at the sound. His face had gone leaden; his greasy plastered hair was all awry. 'Vat you laughing at, gn?' he asked savagely, suddenly resuming his managerial tone. 'Take it we're bust, ain't we?' said Gertie, stepping forward jauntily. Stein lifted, then dropped one hand. 'Yes,' he said, 'bust.' 'Thank you for a week's wages, Mr Stein,' said Gertie, 'and I'll push off, if yer don't mind.' Stein laughed harshly. With a theatrical movement he seized the cash drawer by the handle, drew it out and flung it on the floor. It was empty.