"Not much! His health settles that for him. Besides, he 's too bookish, and father 'll let him do what he pleases, anyway--he does n't mind having one son of that stripe. But the other son--he must go into the mill, whether he wants to or not!"
"Could you get to West Point without your father's permission? Don't you have to be sent by somebody--your Congressman, is n't it?"
"Oh, there 's a lot of red tape, and father could block the whole game, I suppose. If he does--well, I 'd enlist and get into the ranks and work my way up, rather than go into that dingy old office and tie myself to a desk and a telephone."
Forrest got upon his feet as he spoke, brushed a clinging weed leaf or two from his clothes, and stood looking gloomily down at Jane, who had risen also. "It 's evident I get no sympathy from you," he said. "I thought you were a girl who could understand a fellow's ambitions--not wet-blanket them."
Jane looked up at him, smiling, although her eyes were still troubled. "I can, I think," she said. "Yet--somehow--I'm imagining the disappointment it must be to a father who has built up a great business like Townsend & Company's to have his son take no interest in it. I can't help thinking--"
"What?"--as Jane paused abruptly.
"Never mind."
"But I want to know what you can't help thinking."
"Well, I 'm wondering if it would be any harder for you to go into your father's office than it is for Peter to work with my father in the note-paper factory. Do you know what Peter wants to be?"
"No. I know he has a good position for his age, with the Armstrongs."