“No, my lad. When you have been in some good office for another year or two maybe, then you might think about setting-up. The office can be in Worcester if you like.”
“I am hard upon twenty-three, Uncle Jacobson. I have as much knowledge of law as I need.”
“And as much steadiness also, perhaps?” said old Jacobson.
Sam turned as red as the table-cover. He was a frank-looking, slender young fellow of middle height, with fine wavy hair almost a gold colour and worn of a decent length. The present fashion—to be cropped as if you were a prison-bird and to pretend to like it so—was not favoured by gentlemen in those days.
“You may have been acquiring a knowledge of law in London, Sam; I hope you have; but you’ve been kicking up your heels over it. What about those sums of money you’ve more than once got out of your mother?”
Sam’s face was a deeper red than the cloth now. “Did she tell you of it, uncle?” he gasped.
“No, she didn’t; she cares too much for her graceless son to betray him. I chanced to hear of it, though.”
“One has to spend so much in London,” murmured Sam, in lame apology.
“I dare say! In my past days, sir, a young man had to cut his coat according to his cloth. We didn’t rush into all kinds of random games and then go to our fathers or mothers to help us out of them. Which is what you’ve been doing, my gentleman.”
“Does aunt know?” burst out Sam in a fright, as a step was heard on the stairs.