“So do I,” said Sir John. “What do you say, Jack?”
“Wherever you like, father,” said the boy resignedly; and he rose and walked right forward to where a couple of the men were on the look-out, and Mr Bartlett was walking slowly up and down with a glass under his arm.
Sir John sighed, and there was perfect silence for a few minutes.
“It is very disappointing,” he said at last.
“What is?” cried the doctor sharply. “Rome wasn’t built in a day.”
“But he seems to take it all as a duty, and as if he was compelled to obey me.”
“And a good thing too,” cried the doctor sharply. “What’s better than for a son to feel that he is bound to obey his father? If I had been a married man instead of a surly bachelor, and I had had a son, I should have expected him to obey me and do what I thought was for his good; eh, captain?”
“Yes, sir, of course; and on your part, tried to be reasonable.”
“Of course. Well, we—I mean Sir John—is reasonable. No, he isn’t now. He wants Rome built in a day with the fresh paint on as well, and a grand procession of big drums and trumpets and soldiers with flags to march through the principal streets.”
“Come, not quite so bad as that, Instow. Don’t be cross.”