Her father translated, and continued:—
"Philip, let me tell you something. You are in danger of becoming a specialist. Life, roughly, is made up of two ingredients—Things and People. At present you are devoting yourself entirely to Things—to Work, in fact. How many years have you lived in Coventry?"
"About five."
"Very good. And how many people do you know there? I am not referring to your fellow stokers. I mean people outside the place. How many?"
Philip pondered, and shook his head.
"I don't know," he said.
"Half a dozen?"
"Perhaps."
"There you are, right away!" said Mr. Mablethorpe, with the intensely satisfied air of one who has scored a point. "You have spent five years in a place, and barely know half a dozen people there. You are becoming a specialist, my son—a specialist in Things. That is all wrong. You are lop-sided. Man was never intended to devote himself to Things, to the exclusion of People—least of all you, with your strong gregarious instincts and human sympathies. Isn't that true?"
Philip considered. Long dormant visions were awakening within him. His thoughts went back to the days when he had decided to follow the calling of a knight-errant. That decision had not occupied his attention much of late, he reflected.