'You.'
'Work?'
'Work.'
Clarence drew a deep breath.
'Work? Well, of course, mind you, fellows do work,' he went on, thoughtfully. 'I was lunching with a man at the Bachelor's only yesterday who swore he knew a fellow who had met a man whose cousin worked. But I don't see what I could do, don't you know.'
His father raised himself on the sofa.
'Haven't I given you the education of an English gentleman?'
'That's the difficulty,' said Clarence.
'Can't you do anything?' asked his mother.
'Well, I can play footer. By Jove, I'll sign on as a pro. I'll take a new name. I'll call myself Jones. I can get signed on in a minute. Any club will jump at me.'