“You know mighty well you did. And as nigh as I can larn from what I got out of Laban—which wasn't much; I had to pump it out of him word by word—this ain't the first set of mistakes you've made. You make 'em right along. If it wasn't for him helpin' you out and coverin' up your mistakes, this firm would be in hot water with its customers two-thirds of the time and the books would be fust-rate as a puzzle, somethin' to use for a guessin' match, but plaguey little good as straight accounts of a goin' concern. Now what makes you act this way? Eh? What makes you?”
“Oh, I don't know. See here, Grandfather—”
“Hold on a minute. You don't know, eh? Well, I know. It ain't because you ain't smart enough to keep a set of books and keep 'em well. I don't expect you to be a Labe Keeler; there ain't many bookkeepers like him on this earth. But I do know you're smart enough to keep my books and keep 'em as they'd ought to be, if you want to keep 'em. The trouble with you is that you don't want to. You've got too much of your good-for-nothin—” Captain Lote pulled up short, cleared his throat, and went on: “You've got too much 'poet' in you,” he declared, “that's what's the matter.”
Albert leaned forward. “That wasn't what you were going to say,” he said quickly. “You were going to say that I had too much of my father in me.”
It was the captain's turn to redden. “Eh?” he stammered. “Why, I—I—How do you know what I was goin' to say?”
“Because I do. You say it all the time. Or, if you don't say it, you look it. There is hardly a day that I don't catch you looking at me as if you were expecting me to commit murder or do some outrageous thing or other. And I know, too, that it is all because I'm my father's son. Well, that's all right; feel that way about me if you want to, I can't help it.”
“Here, here, Al! Hold on! Don't—”
“I won't hold on. And I tell you this: I hate this work here. You say I don't want to keep books. Well, I don't. I'm sorry I made the errors yesterday and put Keeler to so much trouble, but I'll probably make more. No,” with a sudden outburst of determination, “I won't make any more. I won't, because I'm not going to keep books any more. I'm through.”
Captain Zelotes leaned back in his chair.
“You're what?” he asked slowly.