“My dear boy—my Jack—I can make every allowance for hunger, it is often the cause of theft and crime in the present unnatural state of society—but really you are too violent. The principles—”
“Your principles are all confounded nonsense, father,” cried Jack in a rage.
“What, Jack! my son—what do I hear? This from you—nonsense! Why, Jack, what has Captain Wilson been doing with you?”
“Bringing me to my senses, sir.”
“Oh, dear, oh, dear! my dear Jack, you will certainly make me lose mine.”
“Gone already,” thought Jack.
“That you, my child, so carefully brought up in the great and glorious school of philosophy, should behave this way—should be so violent—forget your sublime philosophy, and all—just like Esau, selling your birthright for a mess of pottage. Oh, Jack, you’ll kill me! and yet I love you, Jack—whom else have I to love in this world? Never mind, we’ll argue the point, my boy—I’ll convince you—in a week all will be right again.”
“It shall, sir, if I can manage it,” replied Jack.
“That’s right, I love to hear you say so—that’s consoling, very consoling—but I think now I was wrong to let you go to sea, Jack.”
“Indeed you were not, father.”