“I want to go trading,” Archie replied.
Sir Archibald lifted his eyebrows––then pursed 197 his lips. The matter of credit was evidently to be proposed to him. It was to be put, too, it seemed, in a business way. Very well: Sir Archibald would deal with the question in a business way. He felt a little thrill of pleasure––he was quite conscious of it. It was delightful to have his only son in a business discussion, at the familiar old desk, with the fire glowing, the wind rattling the windows and the rain lashing the panes. Sir Archibald was a business man; and now he realized for the first time that Archie was grown to a companionable age. This, after all, he reflected, was what he had been working for: To engage in business with his own son.
“Then you want credit?” said he.
“Look here, dad!” Archie burst out; “of course, I want credit. I’ll tell you all about it,” he rattled anxiously. “We want––we means Billy Topsail, Jimmie Grimm, Donald North and me––they’re all Ruddy Cove fellows, you know––we want to charter the On Time at Ruddy Cove, call her the Spot Cash, stock her cabin and hold––she’s only a twenty-tonner––and ship Bill o’ Burnt Bay for skipper and trade the ports of White Bay and the French Shore. All the boys–––”
“––WE WANT TO CHARTER THE ON TIME AND TRADE THE PORTS OF THE FRENCH SHORE.”
“My traders,” Sir Archibald interrupted, quietly, “are trading White Bay and the French Shore.”
“I know it, dad,” Archie began eagerly, “but–––”