“Only while the war lasts.” They wrangled about goodwill for ten minutes. Then Maurice said casually: “I suppose you’ve got to pay out a good deal of money to Simpson’s estate.” “A certain amount,” admitted Peter, “and frankly that’s one of the reasons why I’m anxious to dispose of the business. You see, it’s a bad time to get rid of outside investments”—he spoke as if he had millions of them—“and although Simpson’s capital was not enormous, I don’t feel inclined to realize a lot of shares so as to replace it.” “So you want us to do it for you,” said Maurice. “Your position’s different to mine. You’re both here to look after things: I’m not.” “That’s quite true,” interrupted Charlie. Maurice, who wanted the business badly but did not wish to appear over-keen, looked angrily across at his brother; took up the running himself. “You’d want to be paid in cash, I suppose?” he said. “Take your own time about that,” answered Peter largely. “If it suits you better to pay me out as you realize the stock and book-debts, I don’t mind. There’ll be interest, of course.” Maurice came back to the question of goodwill; was sheered off by Peter; began to fish for figures. But these, his antagonist refused to give. “My accountant’s working on them,” he prevaricated, “they’ll be ready tomorrow. But it’s no good showing them to you unless you’re prepared to deal.” “Can’t you give me some idea? I’m only trying to find out if we can afford it.” It was time to fire the last shot. “Maurice,” said Peter, “you know as well as I do that there’s no question of affording. All you’re asked to do—barring the payment for goodwill—-is to take over sound stock and good book-debts; realize on ’em; and pay the money over to me. If you don’t want to do it, say so; and I’ll either sell the show to Elkins or tell my accountants to liquidate.” “You’re in such a hurry,” began Maurice. “Can’t you leave us till tomorrow?” “No, I can’t.” “But about this goodwill. How much do you want for it?” “A year’s profits.” The two brothers looked at each other; and Peter, watching, saw that he had the fish hooked. They didn’t want Elkins to have the business. They didn’t want it liquidated. They wanted it for themselves. “Look here, Peter,” began Maurice ingratiatingly, “you and I are old pals. Of course, I quite see you must have this thing settled quickly. But I’m sure you wouldn’t want us to pay more than it’s worth for the business: any more than _we_ should like to pay you less.” “Of course not,” smiled Peter. He knew Maurice Beresford in his “between-you-and-me-and-the-gate-post-and-as-old-friends” mood. “Well, why not leave the details to our accountants? You want to sell. We’re quite prepared to buy. A few hundreds one way or another can’t make any difference to either of us. Don’t you think that’s best, Charlie?”