“I’m making the money—making it hand over fist. All you’ll have to do will be to spend it,” Grindley senior was explaining to his son and heir.
“I’ll do that all right, dad.”
“I’m not so sure of it,” was his father’s opinion. “You’ve got to prove yourself worthy to spend it. Don’t you think I shall be content to have slaved all these years merely to provide a brainless young idiot with the means of self-indulgence. I leave my money to somebody worthy of me. Understand, sir?—somebody worthy of me.”
Mrs. Grindley commenced a sentence; Mr. Grindley turned his small eyes upon her. The sentence remained unfinished.
“You were about to say something,” her husband reminded her.
Mrs. Grindley said it was nothing.
“If it is anything worth hearing—if it is anything that will assist the discussion, let’s have it.” Mr. Grindley waited. “If not, if you yourself do not consider it worth finishing, why have begun it?”
Mr. Grindley returned to his son and heir. “You haven’t done too well at school—in fact, your school career has disappointed me.”
“I know I’m not clever,” Grindley junior offered as an excuse.
“Why not? Why aren’t you clever?”