“It is settled that he shall succeed Mr Bone as soon as he has finished his training,” said Mr Mallow, quietly.
“Poor old Bone!—dry Bone, as we used to call him, because he was such a thirsty soul. And so Luke Ross is to be the new man, eh? I congratulate Lawford,” he added, with a sneer.
“You have never liked Luke Ross since he gave you so sound a thrashing,” said his father, quietly.
“He? Thrash me? Absurd, father! Pooh! the fellow is beneath my notice.”
“I think we understand each other now,” said Mr Mallow, with quiet firmness. “While you stay here, Cyril, there is to be no trifling with any one. You can share our home for the present—that is, until you obtain some engagement.”
“Oh, hang engagements!” cried the young man, impatiently. “You have plenty of money, father, both in your own right and mamma’s. Why should I be constantly driven from home to some menial work?”
“Because it is time that your spoiled life of indulgence should cease. There is nothing degrading in work; it is idleness that degrades.”
“Oh, yes; you’ve lectured me enough about that,” said the young man, rudely.
“And you may take it for granted that as soon as an opening can be made for you—”
“Opening wanted for a pushing young man,” cried Cyril, mockingly.