After a look-see, the secretary and I made our way back to my corner office upstairs. He sat down in one of the big chairs and I slid into the swivel seat behind my desk. On my walls hung the mementos of bygone days. There in a silver frame was my commission as a commander, and beneath it, all the others from passed midshipman on up; beside it hung my certificate of graduation from the Naval Academy. On other walls were collected the photographs of my friends: Admiral Moffett, pipe in hand, with that alert look; Admiral Reeves, from an oil painting by his own son, bearded like the seamen of the old school and with that gleam in his eye; Chance Vought, dapper with his waxed moustache; George Wheat, wise in the ways of a newspaper man; Comdr. Charles E. Kennedy-Purvis, Royal Navy, a friend of my Grand Fleet days; Hap Arnold, of the Army Air Corps; Jack Towers, of Naval Aviation; and Captain Marco Zar, Argentine Navy. They were a goodly company. The secretary glanced at them and then came to his point. It was the British matter all right. Time was fleeting and he thought we ought to get down to business and sign the contract. In reply, I pointed out our position. We had accepted the French order without first getting a commitment from the Treasury Department to treat plant depreciation on a more realistic basis. We had, however, set up our own books on the basis of synchronizing the plant writeoff with the shipment of the product called for on the engine contract; on this basis the plant would be completely written down when the product shipments had been completed. That would tend to reduce our taxable income for the period, but it would have the advantage to our own government that all subsequent products of that facility could be invoiced to it at no charge for depreciation of plant. In case we became involved in a war, and that now seemed probable, the government would recover in reduced costs everything it might now lose in taxes. I had the impression, as I talked, that the secretary did not entirely follow me. I therefore went on to explain the situation more fully. The rules promulgated by the Internal Revenue Bureau might or might not be satisfactory to some ordinary peacetime businesses. I suspected they were not, as the desire to assess taxes currently might easily lead to poor judgment for the long term. This was a serious matter, since it tended to increase product costs by retarding the purchase of improved machinery and thus impaired the whole capital replacement problem. With us it was even more critical because our situation was most unusual and called for broad vision and judgment. I then took a long breath and said the little piece I had rehearsed in the roadster on the way over.