As Ansley himself lighted a cigar, Tom took a cigarette from the silver box, and leaned against the back of the big chair from which he had just risen. Once more he was struck by the resemblance between the shrewd close-lipped face, dropping into its meditative cast, and the lampshade just below it, parchment with a touch of rose, and an inner light. Ansley puffed for a minute or two pensively.
"You've no family, I believe. You haven't got the complications of a lot of relatives."
Tom was surprised by the new topic. "No, sir. I wish I had, but—"
"Oh, well, for a young fellow like you, bound to get on—" He dropped this line to take up another. "I'm thinking about Guy. Occurred to me the other day that while he'd been dragged about Europe a good many times he didn't know anything of his own country. Never been west of the Hudson."
Tom smoked and wondered.
"I've suggested to him to take his summer's vacation and wander about. Get the lay of the land. Could cover a good deal of ground in three months. Zigzag up and down—Niagara—Colorado—Chicago—Grand Canyon—California—Seattle—back if he liked by the Canadian Pacific. What would you think?"
"I think it would be great."
"Would you go with him?"
It seemed to Tom that his brain was spinning round. Not only was he too dazed to find words, but the question of money came first. How could he afford ...?