“Very likely; very likely. Yes, that strikes me as a sufficient explanation. All right, Mr. Mac-keller, take your ten minutes, and try to make your statement as simple as possible. I hope statistics do not come into it. I’ve no head for figures.”
“My father,” began the young man, with blunt directness, “is a stockbroker in the city. The firm is Mackeller and Son. I am the son.”
“You don’t look to me like a stockbroker. That is, what I’ve always expected such a person to be: I’ve never met one.”
“No, I’m in reality a mining engineer.”
“But, my dear sir, you have just said you were a stockbroker.”
“I said my father was.”
“You said Mackeller and Son, and that you were the son.”
“Yes, I am a partner in the firm, but, nevertheless, a mining engineer.”
“Do stockbrokers make mining engineers of their sons?”
“One of them did. My father is a rigidly honest man, and preferred me to be an engineer.” His lordship’s eyebrows again elevated themselves.