"Why don't you buy a motor, Dad?"
Samuel Quirk glared at his son for some moments in speechless surprise. Then he answered:
"What would I be doing with a motor?"
"Enjoying the beauties of Australia, and giving the mother a little pleasure," replied Denis.
"Pleasure! I would die in a motor," cried Mrs. Quirk.
"Just as well die there as in a phaeton. If you once ride in a motor, you will never ride in anything else, unless it's an aeroplane. If the Dad doesn't buy you a motor, I will."
"A motor! What would the boys say to see me in a motor?" growled Samuel Quirk.
"Confound the boys! If the boys object to a motor, they are fools. Motors mean the circulation of money. What is the difference between a motor and a house, a motor and a horse, a motor and a coat? Don't they all represent money to the working man? Don't bother yourself about the boys, or the jackasses either!"
Already there were signs of political differences between father and son. Samuel Quirk had clung to his Labour political creed all his life; now, in his time of prosperity, he refused to resign his early principles. Denis, a Democrat at heart, was something of a freelance, inclined to tilt indiscriminately at both parties. This, however, was the first occasion since his homecoming on which he had openly opposed his father, and Samuel Quirk resented it.
"I have two legs to travel on, and they are good enough for me," he growled.