At any rate, when Mr. Britling got back to his writing-desk he was much too disturbed to resume “And Now War Ends.”

“There’s bound to be a tremendous change in values!”

He had never felt quite so sure as most people about the stability of the modern financial system.  He did not, he felt, understand the working of this moratorium, or the peculiar advantage of prolonging the bank holidays.  It meant, he supposed, a stoppage of payment all round, and a cutting off of the supply of ready money.  And Hickson the grocer, according to Mrs. Faber, was already looking askance at cheques.

Even if the bank did reopen Mr. Britling was aware that his current balance was low; at the utmost it amounted to twenty or thirty pounds.  He had been expecting cheques from his English and American publishers, and the usual Times cheque.  Suppose these payments were intercepted!

All these people might, so far as he could understand, stop payment under this moratorium!  That hadn’t at first occurred to him.  But, of course, quite probably they might refuse to pay his account when it fell due.

And suppose The Times felt his peculiar vein of thoughtfulness unnecessary in these stirring days!

And then if the bank really did lock up his deposit account, and his securities became unsaleable!

Mr. Britling felt like an oyster that is invited to leave its shell....

He sat back from his desk contemplating these things.  His imagination made a weak attempt to picture a world in which credit has vanished and money is of doubtful value.  He supposed a large number of people would just go on buying and selling at or near the old prices by force of habit.

His mind and conscience made a valiant attempt to pick up “And Now War Ends” and go on with it, but before five minutes were out he was back at the thoughts of food panic and bankruptcy....

Section 5

The conflict of interests at Mr. Britling’s desk became unendurable.  He felt he must settle the personal question first.  He wandered out upon the lawn and smoked cigarettes.

His first conception of a great convergent movement of the nations to make a world peace and an end to militant Germany was being obscured by this second, entirely incompatible, vision of a world confused and disorganised.  Mrs. Fabers in great multitudes hoarding provisions, riotous crowds attacking shops, moratorium, shut banks and waiting queues.  Was it possible for the whole system to break down through a shock to its confidence?  Without any sense of incongruity the dignified pacification of the planet had given place in his mind to these more intimate possibilities.  He heard a rustle behind him, and turned to face his wife.

“Do you think,” she asked, “that there is any chance of a shortage of food?”

“If all the Mrs. Fabers in the world run and grab—­”