'Not good enough anyhow, dad, to wear a hassock. Whew! I mean a cassock.'
'Well, there are the civil and the diplomatic services.'
Antony shook an impatient head.
'And you're too old for the army. But—now listen, Frank. I expect your eyes to gleam, lad, when I mention the term: a parliamentary career! Think of it, lad; think of it. Just think of the long vista of splendid possibilities that these two words can conjure up before a young man with the blood of a Blake in his veins.'
Frank Antony did not seem at all impressed; not even a little bit.
'I'm afraid, father, I'm a lazy rascal,' he said, almost pitying the enthusiasm which he himself could not appreciate. 'I'm not so clever as my dear old dad, and I fear the House would bore me. Never could make a speech either, so'——
'Speech!' roared the squire, 'why, you'll never be asked to. They wouldn't let you. They'd cough you down, groan you down, laugh you down. Besides, clever men don't make speeches nowadays—only the fools.'
Young Antony suppressed a yawn.
'Very good, my boy, very good!'—his dad was shaking hands with him—'and I honour you for your choice. And I'm of precisely the same opinion. There's nothing like a seat in the House.'
'Rather have one on the hillside though, daddy, all among the grouse.'