"Of course," said the doctor gravely, "and I see that does make a difference. One sees things from such a different point of view."
"Yes, that you do," said Harry.
"Exactly," continued the doctor slowly, "and you see, as you say, I do exactly as I like, have everything I wish for, never suffer the slightest trouble, enjoy the most robust health, am as rich as a man need wish to be; in fact, I am the happiest man under the sun."
"Are you, Doctor?" said Harry. "I'm glad of it. I didn't know it was so good as that."
"And, of course, that is about how you'd like to be, eh, Hal?"
"Well," said the boy, hesitating, "something like that—I—er—I—I don't want to be greedy."
"Don't want to be greedy?" cried the doctor, changing his manner, as he sprang up and began to pace the museum. "Why, you miserable, discontented young cub! There is not one boy in a thousand leads such a life as you do: a good home, surrounded by friends, with plenty of time for study, and plenty of time for the necessary amusement. Yours, sir, is an ideal life; but it has spoilt you, and I'm afraid it is from having a too indulgent father."
"Oh, come, Cameron, I must speak in my own defence," said Mr. Kenyon.
"And you ought to speak in mine too, father," cried Harry indignantly, as he gazed at the doctor with blazing eyes and flaming cheeks.
"I can't, Hal," said his father, smiling; "there's so much truth in what he says, my boy, and your words were uncalled for—unjust."