"I cannot quite understand," said Uncle Joseph, "why the event to which you refer should have made it necessary for him to leave my house. In fact, I should have thought it would have been an inducement to him to remain. Have a cigar?"
Mr. Mablethorpe helped himself, and replied thoughtfully:—
"I gather that the—the event to which we have referred absolved him, in his rather immature judgment, from further allegiance to your person and service."
Uncle Joseph eyed his visitor keenly.
"Service—eh? Did he explain to you the nature of his services?"
"Yes, he told me all about it. The Kind Young Hearts, the Unwanted Doggies, Tommy Smith—everything. I made him tell me every shred of the story. I would not have missed a word of it. It was priceless—immense—the most brilliant thing I ever heard of! As a brother-artist, in a smaller and less remunerative way, I beg to offer you my felicitations and thanks. But our young friend Philip appears to have found his share of the work uncongenial. Apparently his conscience—"
"Not his conscience," interposed Uncle Joseph: "his disposition. The boy is a born sentimentalist, like his father before him. I had noticed the paternal characteristics developing for some time, and I expected an upheaval sooner or later. The—the event to which reference has been made precipitated matters, that is all."
"Quite so," agreed Mr. Mablethorpe. "But whatever his underlying forces may be, your nephew appears to be a youth of some directness of character. When I intercepted him yesterday he was on his way to Coventry, with the intention of studying the mechanics of automobilism. He is now in my house, and on my representations has agreed to place his future unreservedly in your hands. But I don't think you will persuade him to go back to the Little Tommy Smith business, you know."
"There is no need," said Uncle Joseph. "Little Tommy Smith is dead, and his works have perished with him."
"So I had gathered," said Mr. Mablethorpe.