“Yes.”
“That I worked and loved it, and love it still, and that you are lazy and love your ease. Don't be offended—” Here Peter laid his hand on the boy's knee. He waited an instant, and not getting any reply, kept on: “What you want to do is to go to work. It wouldn't have been honorable in you to let your father support you after you were old enough to earn your own living, and it isn't honorable in you, with your present opinions, to live on your uncle's bounty, and to be discontented and rebellious at that, for that's about what it all amounts to. You certainly couldn't pay for these comforts outside of this house on what Breen & Co. can afford to pay you. Half of your mental unrest, my lad, is due to the fact that you do not know the joy and comfort to be got out of plain, common, unadulterated work.”
“I'll do anything that is not menial.”
“What do you mean by 'menial'?”
“Well, working like a day-laborer.”
“Most men who have succeeded have first worked with their hands.”
“Not my uncle.”
“No, not your uncle—he's an exception—one among a million, and then again he isn't through.”
“But he's worth two million, they say.”
“Yes, but he never earned it, and he never worked for it, and he doesn't now. Do you want to follow in his footsteps?”