§ 2
But young Bealby maintained an obstinate fight against the inevitable.
He had no gift of lucid exposition. “I ain’t going to be a servant,” he said. “I don’t see what right people have making a servant of me.”
“You got to be something,” said Mr. Darling.
“Everybody’s got to be something,” said Mrs. Darling.
“Then let me be something else,” said young Bealby.
“I dessay you’d like to be a gentleman,” said Mr. Darling.
“I wouldn’t mind,” said young Bealby.
“You got to be what your opportunities give you,” said Mr. Darling.
Young Bealby became breathless. “Why shouldn’t I be an engine driver?” he asked.
“All oily,” said his mother. “And getting yourself killed in an accident. And got to pay fines. You’d like to be an engine driver.”
“Or a soldier.”
“Oo!—a Swaddy!” said Mr. Darling decisively.
“Or the sea.”
“With that weak stummik of yours,” said Mrs. Darling.
“Besides which,” said Mr. Darling, “it’s been arranged for you to go up to the ’ouse the very first of next month. And your box and everything ready.”
Young Bealby became very red in the face. “I won’t go,” he said very faintly.
“You will,” said Mr. Darling, “if I ’ave to take you by the collar and the slack of your breeches to get you there.”