"So I see," replied the farmer. "But the showring's one thing, work's another." And when pressed to send his son on to a University he refused.
"He'll get an exhibition," urged the Headmaster.
The father was not impressed.
"Moderation in all things," he said, shaking a shrewd head. "Edication as well. He's stood out long enough. Time he began to 'arn."
The Headmaster's arguments were of no avail.
"I'd got all the schooling I needed by then I was eleven. He's had till he's eighteen. If it's to be of any good to him it'll be good now," said Mr. Silver.
To his surprise and secret pleasure his son backed him. He didn't want to go to a University.
"It's not much use unless you're a classic," the boy said. "And I'm a mathematician."
Besides he had his own clear-cut views of what he wished to do. And those views were very strange. He wanted to go into a Bank.
"Bank!" cried the amazed father. "Set at a counter all day and calcalate sums?"