“What!” said Clay in astonishment, when he heard my decision, “you refuse to come out of the rut? I fully expected you to fall upon my neck and shed tears of joy.”
“Yes,” I replied, “I have to refuse. In fifteen years my roots have gone down too far. Your offer comes too late. There was a time when I would have fallen upon your neck and wept tears of gratitude. Now, I can only refuse with thanks. If you desire to be of assistance to me you may do so while leaving me to my Civil Service fate.”
“Tell me how,” said Clay, “and I will be very happy to do anything I can do.”
“Well,” I said, “I believe I am above pot holes. You are a powerful person in the business world. You move among people of influence. Bring me into the favourable notice of my Minister.”
“My dear Wesblock,” said Clay, “it is a sad sight to see a man of your type with ambition dead.”
“My ambition is not dead,” I said, “it is only subdued and is more modest than formerly. I have ambition still, but my desires are towards things that I believe are best for a man of my kind.”
“You always were an odd fish,” he said. “I cannot understand you. Are you the same Wesblock whom I remember? The gambler and sport who began with a shoe string, and ended with a hundred thousand dollars?”
The sum he mentioned made me smile. “Not as much as that, Clay,” I said, “that is more than four times as much as I ever was worth.”
“Well, anyhow,” he said, “you made a great deal of money in a very short time, and then threw up the game.”
“Yes, I did,” said I, “but I am happier now than I was then.”