John: I want to. I got stuck—this morning in the office, I got an idea that I thought might unstick me ... I only meant to go out for a walk for a few minutes, but it came so clear in my head that I came home and worked.
Mr. Freeman: You were playing the piano.
John: Strumming between whiles.
Mr. Freeman: I see ... now look here ... I’ve got no objection to your writing articles, or whatever it is and strumming on the piano—it’s a very nice thing to be able to do ... these things may be all very well in their place—but their place is not the best working hours of your life ... that’s what you’ve got to understand. Now, listen to me, my boy, you’ve got a niche.
John: I’ve got a what?
Mr. Freeman: A NICHE—will you please not laugh.
John: I beg your pardon; it sounded comic.
Mr. Freeman: Well, it isn’t comic. You’ve got a very pretty little income waiting for you; and a prettier little wife, but if you think you’re going to inherit the whole show mooning away a few hours at the office, when it happens to suit you, because I and others work hard for you there all day—and have done for the best part of our lives—you’re vastly mistaken. The business is your bread and butter; your life; and you’ve got to give the best part of your life to it; you get an idea in your head, and that Robinson contract cropped up in the afternoon, and you precious nearly lost the firm a thousand pounds ... what have you got to say to that?
[The atmosphere is changing; the argument is degenerating into the family row.
Well, what have you got to say to that?