But on a point like this Mr. Carroll would never yield an inch. “Labor is getting a bigger reward for less work than it ever got before,” he said. Then he changed the subject. “You know, son,” he remarked, with a sudden smile, “to see you sitting there brings back so many things. I can’t get over the feeling that you’re a boy, as you used to be, and have come up and made yourself agreeable in preparation to touching me for money. You don’t need money, do you?” he asked wistfully.
“Goodness, no!” said Stacey, who had just ten dollars to last the rest of the month. He would have liked to oblige his father, but he really couldn’t, in this. He got up to go, and Mr. Carroll touched the button that would summon his stenographer.
“I’ll run along now and leave you in peace,” Stacey observed. “I’m going down to see if Parkins will give me a job.”
At this Mr. Carroll lifted his head quickly and gave him a sharp look. “Just a minute, Ruth,” he said to the young woman who had opened the door. “I’ll ring for you again presently.” She went out.
Mr. Carroll gazed at his son with interest. “Going back to work, eh?”
“Yes.”
“Look here!” said the older man sharply. “How would you like a job with me? Lots of big things you could work into.”
Stacey hesitated. He would have done a great deal to please his father. But after a moment he shook his head.
“No, sir,” he replied reluctantly. “I’d like it; honestly I would. It would be a fascinating new game. But architecture is the one thing I know about. You gave me years of study in it. I’d better stick to it.”
His father nodded. “Right!” he said. “I can see that.”