Roger the elder stopped in the middle of the path. He took his cigar out of his mouth and cleared his throat.
"Well, sonnie, I suppose it's a man who runs very straight, who never plays the fool, and does idiotic things, for the doing of which he has to pay Jew prices—a very good man, you know. But why? What d'you want to know for?"
"Well, mother said Uncle Ambrose is a 'stainless gentleman,' and she hoped I'd be like him when I'm grown up."
"For the matter of that, sonnie, so do I. You couldn't have a better model."
"I'd rather be like you, fardie, dear—much rather." And Roger took his father's hand in both his own, and squeezed it hard.
The elder Roger said nothing for a minute, but he grew very red. How was he to tell the faithful little soul at his side that his ideal was by no means a high one?
"You'll grow up very much the sort of man you want to be, sonnie. So mind and want to be the best sort going."
"Well, 't all events, I shan't be like Uncle Ambrose. He's too fond of sitting still."
"You'll be fond of sitting still when you're his age," said his father, with a sigh of relief.
They fed the carp, and Roger almost forgot his troubles, till, on returning to the house, they saw his mother on the tennis court with the little girls. She called to him to come and play cricket with his sisters.