“Well really, Archie,” said Elsie, “you talk as earnestly as if you actually were going to die.”
“Who said I was going to die? No, I don’t mean to die till I’ve done much more mischief.”
“Hush! Archie.”
“Well, I’m hushed.”
“Why do you want to make your will?”
“Oh, it isn’t wanting to make my will! I am—I’ve done it. And the ‘why’ is this, I’m going away.”
“To Oxford?”
“No, Elsie, not to Oxford. I’ve got quite enough Latin and Greek out of Walton to last me all my life. I couldn’t be a doctor; besides father is hardly rich enough to make me one at present. I couldn’t be a doctor, and I’m not good enough to be a parson.”
“Archie, how you talk.”
There were tears in Elsie’s eyes now.