It was indeed an ideal den for a man who loved to read. A great stone fireplace was at one end with bookcases ceiling high, on either side.
There were Indian rugs on the floor, low wall lamps that hung over comfortable wicker chairs with basket-like magazine holders at the side. A wide divan in front of the blazing fire on the hearth invited Charles, and he threw himself full length, his hands clasped under his head. “Harold, this is great,” he exclaimed. “I’ve been in such a mad rush these last days getting the finals over, packing and traveling down here, that it seems mighty good to stretch out and let go for awhile.”
“Do you smoke?” Harold asked. “If you want to, go ahead. I never learned. Dad was much opposed to smoking and even though I was so young I promised I wouldn’t, at least not until I was twenty-one.” Then, after a moment of thought, the younger lad concluded: “In memory of Dad, I shall never begin.”
“Glad to hear it, old man! If a chap doesn’t start a bad habit, he won’t have to struggle to break it when it begins to pull down his health. I much prefer to breathe fresh air myself.” Charles changed the subject. “What’s this about getting up at five o’clock to start in being a farmer? Don’t tell me, though, if you’d rather not.”
“Oh, there’s no secret to it. Sort of thought I’d like to learn how to run a farm since I am to own one.”
“Surely! But I didn’t know you were to inherit a farm. Where’s it located?”
It was evident that Charles did not know that the Rocky Point farm belonged to Harold’s mother and the boy hesitated to tell, not knowing but that the older lad would think less of the Warners and Jenny if he knew that they were what Gwyn called his “mother’s servants.” A second thought assured him that this would be very unlikely.
Simply Harold said, “Silas Warner is my mother’s overseer.”
“Oho, I understand. You’re lucky to have such a splendid man to look after your interests.” Then, “I like ranching mighty well. Dad suggested that I take up law, thought I might need it later, when—” Charles never finished that sentence, and, if Harold thought it queer, he made no comment.
They talked of college, of ambitions and plans for the future, until bed time. For the first time in his life Charles was lulled to sleep by the rhythmic breaking of the waves as the tide went out.