"Chiefly meditate."
"You're the rummest fellow I ever knew. I've wanted to write to you, but—hang it!—what with hot weather and brass bedsteads, and this and that——Now, what are you going to do? Your money won't last for ever. Haven't you any projects? It was no good talking about it before you left Dudley. I saw that. You were all but fit for a lunatic asylum, and no wonder. But you've pulled round, I see. Never saw you looking in such condition. What is to be the next move?"
"I have no idea."
"Well, now, I have. This fellow Birching is partner with his brother, in Brum, and they're tolerably flourishing. I've thought of you ever since I came to know him; I think it was chiefly on your account that I got thick with him—though there was another reason I'll tell you about that some time. Now, why shouldn't you go into their office? Could you manage to pay a small premium? I believe I could square it with them. I haven't said anything. I never hurry—like things to ripen naturally. Suppose you saw your way, in a year or two, to make only as much in an architect's office as you did in that——machine-shop, wouldn't it be worth while?"
Hilliard mused. Already he had a flush on his cheek, but his eyes sensibly brightened.
"Yes," he said at length with deliberation. "It would be worth while."
"So I should think. Well, wait till you've got to be a bit chummy with Birching. I think you'll suit each other. Let him see that you do really know something about architecture—there'll be plenty of chances."
Hilliard, still musing, repeated with mechanical emphasis:
"Yes, it would be worth while."
Then Narramore called to Birching, and the talk became general again.