Frank laughed.
“But I say yes, sir,” cried Sir Robert. “Why, in sixteen years’ time, if I could have stood still, we two would be as much alike as a couple of peas. But in sixteen years perhaps I shall be in my grave.”
“Father!”
“Well, I’m a soldier, my boy; and soldiers have to run risks more than other men.”
“Oh, but you won’t; you’re too big and brave.”
“Ha—ha—ha! Flattering again. Why, Frank, I sometimes think I’m a coward.”
“You! A coward! I should like to hear any one say so.”
“A good many will perhaps, boy. But there, never mind that; and perhaps after all you had better not follow my profession.”
“What! not be a soldier!”
“Yes. Do you really wish to be?”