"Precisely," Rod agreed. It was as far as he would go.
"Well, it won't do you any harm," his father rambled on, "and you may acquire a useful technique. We are expanding more or less, in spite of a conservative policy. Phil would undoubtedly appreciate a second-in-command before long. He has his hands pretty full. On the whole, I'm rather glad you've taken this notion. I won't last forever, and I'd like to see you and Phil solidly established before my mantle descends on Grove. Timber and land are good, solid foundations."
"What about finance?" Rod asked idly. "That seems pretty gorgeously productive, pater. Does it ever strike you that Grove may outgrow the regulation Norquay mantle?"
"If he does, it will be because he has made a more capacious one for himself," Norquay senior smiled complacently. "I imagine Grove's well able to run his own show and live up to the Norquay tradition, too. He has a genius for affairs."
"So it seems," Rod commented dryly,—and the "affairs" he was thinking of were not the ones his father had in mind. "I wouldn't fancy it myself."
"As a matter of fact, no youngster knows quite what he fancies," his father drawled. "I had a fancy for the law and politics. Two years of reading Blackstone and a term in the Legislature cured me of both. Take your Uncle Mark. He was past thirty before he found his real bent. Follow your natural bent, Rod, whatever it is. You have plenty of time and backing. This beginning on the ground floor may work out. Knowledge of any sort never comes amiss."
So that was settled.
When his father presently left the zoom Rod picked up and opened the folio. He read over forty or fifty closely-written sheets, knitting his smooth young brow over the phrasing.
"Won't do—-only in spots. It's dead. I've got to breathe the breath of life into these people. And I don't seem to know how."
He sprang to his feet, paced the floor.