until Christmas? You have some kind of plan, haven't you?"
"Yes."
"What is it?"
"We might. . . ." Sam looked down at the floor and suddenly lifted his head. "We might borrow."
Slowly Bert closed the bank book and slipped it back into the pocket of his coat. A shiver had trembled through him . . . and had given place to a burning recklessness. Christmas! The crowd . . . everybody spending. If Christmas boomed their business they would be safe. No need to confess failure to anybody. The hope of that swept every other consideration from his mind.
"Every business borrows," Sam was saying. "Your father has notes over at the bank. I helped to keep his books. I know what I'm talking about."
"Could . . . could we get money at the bank?" Bert asked.
"No. You've got to show a bank you're making money; you've got to be what they call 'a safe risk.' I know that, too. I drew up a couple of statements for your father when he went over to borrow. We couldn't possibly show them any profits."
"Where could we get it?"
"Well. . . ." Sam looked down at the floor
