At present our worldly possessions seem to consist chiefly of a large store of mutual affection, a good stock of clothes and one Yellow God, which after what happened last night, I do not think you will get another chance of turning into cash." "I must make money somehow," he said.
"Yes, Alan, but I am afraid it is not easy to do--honestly.

Nobody wants people without capital whose only stock in trade is a brief but distinguished military career, and a large experience of African fever." Alan groaned at this veracious but discouraging remark, and she went on quickly: "I mean to spend another guinea upon my friend the lawyer at Kingswell.
Perhaps he can raise the wind, by a post-obit, or something," she added vaguely, "I mean a post-uncle-obit." "If he does, Barbara, I can't live on your money alone, it isn't right." "Oh! don't you trouble about that, Alan.

If once I can get hold of those dim thousands you will soon be able to make more, for unto him that hath shall be given.

But at present they are very dim, and for all I know may be represented by stock in deceased companies.

In short, the financial position is extraordinarily depressed, as they say in the Market Intelligence in _The Times_.