“No, I assure you—not altogether—though, I acknowledge, it would be a fine thing to let business slide—to have nothing at all to do.”
“I do not agree with you. I think it would be the very worst thing that could happen to you to have nothing to do,” said Mrs Inglis, gravely.
“To me, especially, do you mean? Well, I don’t quite mean that; but I think Mr Caldwell was right when he told my father that, if he had meant me for business, he should have put me to it long ago.”
“Do you mean that you regret having been sent to the university?”
“I mean that I should have been fit for my work by this time, and, probably, content with it. A university is not needed there.”
“You must not be angry with me if I say you are talking foolishly,” said Mrs Inglis, “and, indeed, ungratefully, when you say that. Do you mean that your education will be a disadvantage to you?”
“No; except by making business distasteful to me. I mean, it has given me other interests and other tastes—something beyond the desire to make money.”
“Doubtless, that was your father’s intention—to make you an intelligent man as well as a banker—not a mere money-maker. And his wish ought to decide you to give the business of his office a fair trial, since you do not seem to have a preference for any other.”
“I have a very decided preference for a trip across the country. Don’t look grave, Aunt Mary. These are my holidays. By and by will be time to settle down to work.”
“I thought you were no longer a schoolboy?”