"Work!" he answered, smiling.
"Not under that stable roof. I won't permit it."
"Then I'll take the road. There's nothing I know better than how to be a tramp."
At this juncture Mr. Fabian came in from his library. He was a smooth-shaven man, comfortably stout; and the stern lines on his forehead and about his mouth softened at sight of Phil, who rose to greet him.
"What of the mine?" asked the newcomer, seating himself.
"Oh, father's digging away," returned Phil. "He probably tells you more than he does me."
Mr. Fabian drew his brows together.
"Not sick of the picture business yet?" he asked, regarding the young man curiously.
Phil shook his head and laughed. He knew Mr. Fabian's disapproval of his chosen profession.