In the “pensée-room” she busied herself with a little brass sprinkler, watering the black earth around her plants. She loved her palms, they gave so much elegance to the room. She touched carefully a young shoot on one of the thick round stems, examined the majestically unfolded fans, and cut away a yellow tip here and there with the scissors. Suddenly she stopped. The conversation in the next room, which had for several minutes been assuming a livelier tone, became so loud that she could hear every word, though the door and the portières were both heavy.
“Don’t shriek like that—control yourself, for God’s sake!” she heard Herr Grünlich say. His weak voice could not stand the strain, and went off in a squeak. “Take another cigar,” he went on, with desperate mildness.
“Yes, thanks, with the greatest pleasure,” answered the banker, and there was a pause while he presumably helped himself. Then he said: “In short, will you or won’t you: one or the other?”
“Kesselmeyer, give me an extension.”
“Ah, ha! No, no, my friend. There is no question of an extension. That’s not the point now.”
“Why not? What is stirring you up to this? Be reasonable, for heaven’s sake. You’ve waited this long.”
“Not a day longer, my friend. Yes, we’ll say eight days, but not an hour longer. But can’t we rely any longer on—?”
“No names, Kesselmeyer.”
“No names. Good. But doesn’t someone rely any longer on his estimable Herr Pa—”
“No hints, either. My God, don’t be a fool.”
“Very good; no hints, either. But have we no claim any longer on the well-known firm with whom our credit stands and falls, my friend? How much did it lose by the Bremen failure? Fifty thousand? Seventy thousand? A hundred thousand? More? The sparrows on the housetops know that it was involved, heavily involved. Yesterday—well, no names. Yesterday the well-known firm was good, and it was unconsciously protecting you against pressure. Today its stock is flat—and B. Grünlich’s stock is the flattest of the flat. Is that clear? Do you grasp it? You are the first man to notice a thing like that. How are people treating you? How do they look at you? Beck and Goudstikker are perfectly agreeable, give you the same terms as usual? And the bank?”
“They will extend.”
“You aren’t lying, are you? Oh, no! I know they gave you a jolt yesterday—a very, very stimulating jolt eh? You see? Oh, don’t be embarrassed. It is to your interest, of course, to pull the wool over my eyes, so that the others will be quiet. Hey, my dear friend? Well, you’d better write to the Consul. I’ll wait a week.”
“A part payment, Kesselmeyer!”
“Part payment, rubbish! One accepts part payment to convince oneself for the time of a debtor’s ability to pay. Do I need to make experiments of that kind on you? I am perfectly well-informed about your ability to pay. Ah, ha, ah, ha! Part payment! That’s a very good joke.”
“Moderate your voice, Kesselmeyer. Don’t laugh all the time in that cursed way. My position is so serious—yes, I admit, it is serious. But I have such-and-such business in hand—everything may still come out all right. Listen, wait a minute: Give me an extension and I’ll sign it for twenty percent.”
“Nothing in it, nothing in it, my friend. Very funny, very amusing. Oh, yes, I’m in favour of selling at the right time. You promised me eight percent, and I extended. You promised me twelve and sixteen percent, and I extended, every time. Now, you might offer me forty percent, and I shouldn’t consider it—not for a moment. Since Brother Westfall in Bremen fell on his nose, everybody is for the moment freeing himself from the well-known firm and getting on a sound basis. As I say, I’m for selling at the right time. I’ve held your signatures as long as Johann Buddenbrook was good—in the meantime I could write up the interest on the capital and increase the percent. But one only keeps a thing so long as it is rising or at least keeping steady. When it begins to fall, one sells—which is the same as saying I want my capital.”
“Kesselmeyer, you are shameless.”
“Ah, ha, a‑ha! Shameless, am I? That’s very charming, very funny. What do you want? You must apply to your father-in-law. The Credit Bank is raging—and you know you are not exactly spotless.”
“No, Kesselmeyer. I adjure you to hear me quietly. I’ll be perfectly frank. I confess that my situation is serious. You and the Credit Bank are not the only ones—there are notes of hand—everything seems to have gone to pieces at once!”
“Of course—naturally. It is certainly a cleanup—a liquidation.”
“No, Kesselmeyer; hear me out. Do take another cigar.”
“This one is not half finished. Leave me alone with your cigars. Pay up.”
“Kesselmeyer, don’t let me smash!—You are a friend of mine—you have eaten at my table.”
“And maybe you haven’t eaten at mine?”
“Yes, yes—but don’t refuse me credit now, Kesselmeyer!”
“Credit? It’s credit, now, is it? Are you in your senses? A new loan?”
“Yes, Kesselmeyer, I swear to you—A little—a trifle. I only need to make a few payments and advances here and there to get on my feet again and restore confidence. Help me and you will be doing a big business. As I said, I have a number of affairs on hand. They may still all come out right. You know how shrewd and resourceful I am.”
“I know what a numbskull you are! A dolt, a nincompoop, my dear friend! Will you have the goodness to tell
