“That’s much worse.”
But Gerald shook his head. “No, it isn’t, my son. No man ever got any good yet out of going with professionals.”
But before Roland had had time to elucidate this riddle Mr. Marston had entered the room. He took Roland’s hand in his and shook it heartily.
“This is splendid, my dear fellow, splendid! They told me you’d come back and I knew where I should find you. It’s good to have you back, and you’ve done splendidly—far better, I don’t mind telling you, than any of us expected. We all looked on this as a sort of trial. But, my word, you’ve brought it off.”
“I’ve been telling him, father, that you’ve been going round London saying that the man who can make fifty runs in half an hour is sure to be able to run a business.”
“And it’s true,” said Mr. Marston, “it’s true. If a man’s got the pluck to face a ticklish situation at cricket, he can do anything. Business is only bluff, like cricket, making the bowler think you’re set when you’re really expecting every ball will be your last. If I’ve said it to Gerald once I’ve said it fifty times. ‘My boy,’ I’ve said, ‘if you don’t do another stroke of work in your life you’ll be worth a salary of five hundred pounds a year for having brought young Whately to us.’ Now come along and let’s go over those accounts.”
They spent over an hour together, and at the end of it Mr. Marston rose from his desk perfectly satisfied.
“As far as I can see you haven’t made a slip. It’s first class absolutely. Now, you run along to Perkins and settle up your personal accounts with him, and then we’ll go out and have lunch somewhere together, the three of us, and you can spend the afternoon at home. I daresay your girl’s been missing you.”
“I haven’t got a girl, sir.”
“What! a young fellow like you not got a girl! We shall have to see about that. Why, at your age I seem to remember....” And the old man winked his eye and chuckled gayly.