Jack moved in his chair, but he made no answer. Sir John did not indeed expect it. He knew his son too well.
“Will you,” he continued, “go out to Africa and take your lame story to Jocelyn just as it is?”
There was a long silence. The old worn-out clock on the mantelpiece wheezed and struck six.
“Yes,” answered Jack at length, “I will go.”
Sir John nodded his head with a sigh of relief. All, indeed, comes to him who waits.
“I have seen a good deal of life,” he said suddenly, arousing himself and sitting upright in the stiff-backed chair, “here and there in the world; and I have found that the happiest people are those who began by thinking that it was too late. The romance of youth is only fit to write about in books. It is too delicate a fabric for everyday use. It soon wears out or gets torn.”
Jack did not seem to be listening.
“But,” continued Sir John, “you must not waste time. If I may suggest it, you will do well to go at once.”
“Yes,” answered Jack, “I will go in a month or so. I should like to see you in a better state of health before I leave you.”
Sir John pulled himself together. He threw back his shoulders and stiffened his neck.