"Hence you must not figure those farms among our assets."
"Why not?" Sinclair replied evenly. "Formal leases have never been
executed, and the tenants occupy the property at your father's
pleasure."
"I think that will be about as far as the discussion on that point
need proceed," Bryce replied smilingly. "My father's word has always
been considered sufficient in this country; his verbal promise to pay
has always been collateral enough for those who know him."
"But my dear boy," Sinclair protested, "while that sort of
philanthropy is very delightful when one can afford the luxury, it is
scarcely practical when one is teetering on the verge of financial
ruin. After all, Bryce, self-preservation is the first law of human
nature, and the sale of those farms would go a long way toward
helping the Cardigan Redwood Lumber Company out of the hole it is in
at present."
"And we're really teetering on the edge of financial ruin, eh?" Bryce
queried calmly.
"That is expressing your condition mildly. The semi-annual payment of
interest on the bonded indebtedness falls due on July first--and
we're going to default on it, sure as death and taxes. Colonel
Pennington holds a majority of our bonds, and that means prompt suit
for foreclosure."
"Well, then, Sinclair," Bryce retorted, carefully pigeon-holing the
documents the manager had handed him, "I'll tell you what we'll do.
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