“Get married,” said dad coolly.
Bob changed color. Dad watched him keenly.
“There’s always the matrimonial market for young men who have not learned to specialize. I’ve known many such marriages to turn out happily, too. Marrying right, my boy, is a practical, not a sentimental business.”
Bob looked disgusted.
“There’s Miss Gwendoline Gerald, for example. Millions in her own name, and—”
“Hold on, dad!” cried Bob. His face was flaming now. The blue eyes gleamed almost fiercely.
“I knew you were acquainted,” observed dad softly, still studying him. “Besides she’s a beautiful girl and—”
“Drop it, dad!” burst from Bob. “We’ve never had a quarrel, but—” Suddenly he realized his attitude was actually menacing. And toward dad—his own dad! “I beg your pardon, sir,” he muttered contritely. “I’m afraid I am forgetting myself. But please turn the talk.”
“All right,” said dad. “I forgive you. I was only trying to elucidate your position. But since it’s not to be the matrimonial market, it’ll have to be a hustle, my boy. I’m too old to make another fortune. I’ve done my bit and now I’m going to retire on my son. Sounds fair and equitable, doesn’t it, Bob?”
“I’d hate to contradict you, sir,” the other answered moodily.