On the day the mills commenced operating Jim Ashe called for a statement of the company’s condition from Mr. Grierson. As Jim expected, it proved to be disquieting. The facts were that the mills had cost upward of two hundred thousand dollars; there was still owing for machinery and materials some thirty thousand dollars; there was seven thousand dollars cash in the bank. The weekly payroll was over two thousand dollars. Other operating expenses, with the cost of supplies and timber, brought this sum up to five thousand dollars a week—and as yet not a penny’s worth of manufactured product had been turned out or shipped. “According to this,” Jim said to Mr. Grierson, “we can run a week. Then what?” “Then,” said Mr. Grierson, his voice dry and rattling like one of the leaves of his ledger, “we’ll have to have some more money.” “Oh,” said Jim, grimly, “that’s all there is to it, eh? Well, where’ll we get it? Supposing we are able to begin shipments by the end of next week—how soon can we expect returns?” “Thirty days at the best.” “And in that thirty days we’ll be spending nearly thirty thousand dollars—which we haven’t got. I have heard of working capital before, but I never comprehended what a pleasant thing it was to have. Where does one get money, Grierson?” “From the bank.” “To be sure. I guess I’m beginning to understand what father was talking about when he said he milked the business. That fifty thousand of his would make a fine plug to put in this hole. But that’s gone. If I know father, he took it to make me hustle. His sense of humor works that way. Well, I’ll see what I can puzzle out, Grierson.” Jim was in a measure prepared to be helmsman of his commercial ship, so far as the manufacturing and selling of his wares were concerned; but when the vessel entered financial waters, with a storm blowing and a tortuous channel to thread, he felt he ought to toot the whistle frantically and signal for a pilot. But there was no pilot to be had. There was nothing for it but to slow down and dodge through the reefs, taking frequent soundings with the lead of good judgment, striving with his eyes to pierce the vexed waters for hidden rocks. In short, the time had arrived to spread the bread of uncertainty with the butter of optimism. He must have money. Two methods of procuring it presented themselves, but he liked the features of neither of them. The first was to borrow—if possible; the second, to sell stock. Without hesitation he eliminated the latter. He put on his hat, stopped long enough in the outer office to tell Grierson he was going to the bank, and went out. He handed his card to Mr. Wills, cashier of the institution, and Mr. Wills shook hands with him in the manner that cashiers shake hands with individuals who are to deposit some hundreds of thousands of dollars a year with them. “Glad to know you, Mr. Ashe. I was wondering when you’d find time to drop in to see us.”