“Well, sir,” said the boy, bitterly, “when a person goes on the stage his or her home goes to smash.”
The Judge made no reply, and Dallas went on with animation: “If I had my way, I’d have no army, no navy, no anything that took men out of their homes. I suppose you’ve always had a home, sir.”
The Judge smiled.
“Then you don’t know what it is to live in a boarding house—to share everything in common with people that you often despise. Why, sir, when I come home from school and go upstairs to that little sitting room where Titus and I study, and shut the door, and feel that it is ours, I am in paradise.”
“But you have to come downstairs and eat and drink with the family,” said the Judge, in amusement.
“Ah!” said the boy, with his handsome face aglow, “but you are my own people now. I like to be with you.”
“Dallas,” said the Judge, abruptly, “tell me what you would like to be when you become a man.”
The boy grew somewhat less animated. “You won’t be vexed with me for being too ambitious?” he said, hesitatingly.
“Not unless you aspire to the Presidency.”
“Sir, I do not aspire to that, but I do wish to be a doctor.”