“I was going to say that I liked Mr Deering for some things. He was so quick and clever, but—”
“You didn’t like him for other things?”
Vane nodded, and the doctor looked care-worn and uneasy; his voice sounded a little husky, too, as he said sharply:—
“Oh, he is a very straightforward, honourable man. We were at school together, and I could trust Deering to any extent. But he has been very unfortunate in many ways, and I’m afraid has wasted a great deal of his life over unfruitful experiments with the result that he is still poor.”
“But anyone must have some failures, uncle. All schemes cannot be successful.”
“True, but there is such a large proportion of disappointment that I should say an inventor is an unhappy man.”
“Not if he makes one great hit,” cried Vane warmly. “Oh, I should like to invent something that would do a vast deal of good, and set everyone talking about it. Why, it would mean a great fortune.”
“And when you had made your great fortune, what then?”
“Well, I should be a rich man, and I could make you and aunt happy.”
“I don’t know that, Vane,” said the doctor, laying his hand upon the lad’s shoulder. “I saved a pleasant little competence out of my hard professional life, and it has been enough to keep us in this pleasant place, and bring up and educate you. I am quite convinced that if I had ten times as much I should be no happier, and really, my boy, I don’t think I should like to see you a rich man.”