Stephen grinned. Malcolm had told him some particulars concerning his university career and its termination.
“He went—part way,” he answered.
“Ya-as. Well, you’ve gone part way, so fur. And now you’ll go the rest.”
“I’d like to know why.”
“For one reason, because I’m your guardian and I say so.”
Stephen was furiously angry. His father’s indulgence and his sister’s tolerance had, in most cases, made his will law in the household. To be ordered about in this way by an ignorant interloper, as he considered his uncle, was too much.
“By gad,” he shouted, “we’ll see!”
“No, we’ve seen. You run along now and pack your trunk. And take my advice and study hard. You’ll be behindhand in your work, so Mr. Sylvester tells me, but you’re smart, and you can catch up. Make us proud of you; that’s what you can do.”
His nephew glanced at him. Captain Elisha was smiling kindly, but there was no sign of change of purpose in his look.
Stephen ground his teeth.