“Get the young fellow a job of work, if I may advise. It’s wonderful how it steadies them down. He’ll have no time to run after the petticoats when he’s tied by the leg to an office, or roughing it in one of the Colonies.”
“The choice of a career lies in my son’s own hands,” said the Canon stiffly. “But you may rest assured, Mr. Duffle, that he will be allowed no further occasion for misusing his time and abusing other people’s hospitality as he appears to have been doing. I am obliged to you, painful though this conversation has been to us both, for treating me with so much frankness in the matter.”
“Don’t mention it,” said Mr. Duffle.
The Canon bowed slightly and escorted his visitor to the door.
The Daimler car was in waiting, but the builder paused with one foot on the step.
“I’ll tell you one thing, Canon,” he remarked confidentially.
The Canon, with extreme reluctance in his demeanour, signified attention.
“If you should think of having that little improvement made to the place that I suggested—you know, the electric light put in—I can tell you the very people to go to—Blapton & Co. They’ve done a lot of work for our firm, and they’ll do it as reasonable as you can hope for. Don’t hesitate to mention my name.”
He nodded, and got into the car.
The Canon stood upon the front doorstep, his face pale and furrowed, his lips compressed.