"Yes, sir." Ross’s eyes met his father’s steadily but respectfully. "And I shall not ask you to advance a cent."
"But haven’t I forbidden your uncle, also, to help you out?"
"Yes, sir, and Uncle Fred has no intention of helping me. He’ll keep the letter and the spirit of the law you have laid down."
"Well, then––"
Ross smiled quietly. "But you have never forbidden my getting a medical education through my own efforts; and that, father, is what I intend to do."
Ross Grant, Senior, found himself looking into eyes which he recognized as strangely like his own and shining with the same determination which in himself had established a thriving business and built up a moderate fortune. Never had he been so interested in his son. Never had he so coveted him for a business career. But, as he ate a moment in silence, young Ross’s determined voice seemed to be repeating in old Ross’s ears, "That, father, is what I intend to do."
During the remainder of the meal the elder Grant listened attentively to the younger’s plans. To Ross this was a new experience. After the first irritation over his tardiness, his father had not once oppressed him with that sense of disapproval and disappointment which usually sent him back to his uncle with a buoyant relief at his escape from New York.
Still, he was not deceived. He knew that his father’s summons had to do with the thwarting of his surgical career; and he was prepared to argue, persuade, do anything short of actual defiance, to gain permission to work for the object toward which all his inclinations pulled.
As they made their way up Broadway through the noon-hour crowd, a feminine voice behind them suddenly piped out excitedly:
"There he is, Kate, right ahead of you–that tall, round-shouldered young man. He’s the one I told you about on the ferry this morning. I tell you what, he made all the men around step lively for a few minutes."