“Needham is one of the strongest men in the cotton trade, Edward.”
“Oh, I called him elephant. Elephants have strength.”
“And strength is despicable?”
“No. But—”
“But Needham is a gross pill to swallow. Well, if it will ease your mind, I do not propose to act with him on this issue. You need not swallow this pill, Edward. But I am not looking to a son of mine to be a runaway from duty, to be a loiterer in smooth places. You have Oxford which is, I hope, confirming you as a gentleman and you have the factory which will confirm you as a man. I could make you an appeal. I could first point out that I am single-handed here in a position which grows beyond the strength of any single pair of hands. I could dub you my natural ally at a time when I have need of an ally. But I shall make you neither an appeal nor a command. Hepplestall’s is a greater thing than I who made it or than you who will inherit it, and there is no occasion for pressure. You are, naturally, inevitably, in its service.” Edward felt rather than saw that somewhere at the opening of the well down which this plunged him there was daylight. “I do not perceive the inevitability,” he cried. “You doom me to a monstrous fate.”
“You are heroical,” said Reuben, “but as to the inevitability, take time, and you will perceive it.”
“Daylight! Give me the daylight!” was what Edward wanted to say, but he repressed that and hardly more happily he asked, “Is there no beauty in life?”
“There is beauty in Hepplestall’s,” said Reuben, and meant it. He had created Hepplestall’s.