Allan Roscoe was not a specially sensitive man, but this remark of his son jarred upon him.
“You seem to forget, Guy, that you do not succeed till I am dead!”
“Yes, I suppose so,” answered Guy, slowly.
“It almost seems as if you were in a hurry for me to die.”
“I didn’t mean that, but it’s natural to suppose that I shall live longer than you do, isn’t it?”
“I suppose so,” returned Allan Roscoe, shortly.
“Of course that’s what I mean.”
“Then, since you are so much better off than Hector, you had better be more considerate, and leave him to get over his disappointment as well as he can.”
“Shall I send in Hector to see you?” asked Guy, as he at length turned to leave the room.
“Yes.”