“Well, you see, Charley’s a good fellow at bottom, and a clever fellow too—at least so says the schoolmaster; though I must confess that, so far as my experience goes, he’s only clever at finding out excuses for not doing what I want him to. But still I’m told he’s clever, and can use his pen well; and I know for certain that he can use his tongue well. So I want to get him into the service, and have him placed in a situation where he shall have to stick to his desk all day. In fact, I want to have him broken in to work; for you’ve no notion, sir, how that boy talks about bears and buffaloes and badgers, and life in the woods among the Indians. I do believe,” continued the old gentleman, waxing warm, “that he would willingly go into the woods to-morrow, if I would let him, and never show his nose in the settlement again. He’s quite incorrigible. But I’ll tame him yet—I will!”
Mr Kennedy followed this up with an indignant grunt, and a puff of smoke, so thick, and propelled with such vigour, that it rolled and curled in fantastic evolutions towards the ceiling, as if it were unable to control itself with delight at the absolute certainty of Charley being tamed at last.
Mr Grant, however, shook his head, and remained for five minutes in profound silence, during which time the two friends puffed in concert, until they began to grow quite indistinct and ghostlike in the thick atmosphere. At last he broke silence.
“My opinion is that you’re wrong, Mr Kennedy. No doubt you know the disposition of your son better than I do; but even judging of it from what you have said, I’m quite sure that a sedentary life will ruin him.”
“Ruin him! Humbug!” said Kennedy, who never failed to express his opinion at the shortest notice and in the plainest language—a fact so well known by his friends that they had got into the habit of taking no notice of it. “Humbug!” he repeated, “perfect humbug! You don’t mean to tell me that the way to break him in is to let him run loose and wild whenever and wherever he pleases?”
“By no means. But you may rest assured that tying him down won’t do it.”
“Nonsense!” said Mr Kennedy testily; “don’t tell me. Have I not broken in young colts by the score? and don’t I know that the way to fix their flints is to clap on a good strong curb?”
“If you had travelled farther south, friend,” replied Mr Grant, “you would have seen the Spaniards of Mexico break in their wild horses in a very different way; for after catching one with a lasso, a fellow gets on his back, and gives it the rein and the whip—ay, and the spur too; and before that race is over, there is no need for a curb.”
“What!” exclaimed Kennedy, “and do you mean to argue from that, that I should let Charley run—and help him too? Send him off to the woods with gun and blanket, canoe and tent, all complete?” The old gentleman puffed a furious puff, and broke into a loud, sarcastic laugh.
“No, no,” interrupted Mr Grant; “I don’t exactly mean that, but I think that you might give him his way for a year or so. He’s a fine, active, generous fellow; and after the novelty wore off, he would be in a much better frame of mind to listen to your proposals. Besides” (and Mr Grant smiled expressively), “Charley is somewhat like his father. He has got a will of his own; and if you do not give him his way, I very much fear that he’ll—”