ANDREW. Huh! I’d be a nice son-of-a-gun if I didn’t, wouldn’t I? When I know how you need this sea trip to make a new man of you—in the body, I mean—and give you your full health back.
ROBERT. (a trifle impatiently) All of you seem to keep harping on my health. You were so used to seeing me lying around the house in the old days that you never will get over the notion that I’m a chronic invalid. You don’t realize how I’ve bucked up in the past few years. If I had no other excuse for going on Uncle Dick’s ship but just my health, I’d stay right here and start in plowing.
ANDREW. Can’t be done. Farming ain’t your nature. There’s all the difference shown in just the way us two feel about the farm. You—well, you like the home part of it, I expect; but as a place to work and grow things, you hate it. Ain’t that right?
ROBERT. Yes, I suppose it is. For you it’s different. You’re a Mayo through and through. You’re wedded to the soil. You’re as much a product of it as an ear of corn is, or a tree. Father is the same. This farm is his life-work, and he’s happy in knowing that another Mayo, inspired by the same love, will take up the work where he leaves off. I can understand your attitude, and Pa’s; and I think it’s wonderful and sincere. But I—well, I’m not made that way.
ANDREW. No, you ain’t; but when it comes to understanding, I guess I realize that you’ve got your own angle of looking at things.
ROBERT. (musingly) I wonder if you do, really.
ANDREW. (confidently) Sure I do. You’ve seen a bit of the world, enough to make the farm seem small, and you’ve got the itch to see it all.
ROBERT. It’s more than that, Andy.
ANDREW. Oh, of course. I know you’re going to learn navigation, and all about a ship, so’s you can be an officer. That’s natural, too. There’s fair pay in it, I expect, when you consider that you’ve always got a home and grub thrown in; and if you’re set on traveling, you can go anywhere you’re a mind to without paying fare.
ROBERT. (with a smile that is half sad) It’s more than that, Andy.