Phil almost gasped at Eileen’s enthusiasm.
“They are the monied land-owners, the vested interests,” he put in. “It suits them to anticipate.”
“And, believe me, they will realise,” retorted Eileen.
“Almost thou persuadest me to be a real estate agent,” he bantered.
“Well,––one thing I do know; no man ever got very far ahead working for the other fellow. If a man isn’t worth more to himself than he is to someone else, you can bet that someone else is not going to employ him.”
“You talk as if you had worked it all out, Miss Pederstone.”
“I have, too!” she went on. “If you are holding down a job at a fair price, it ought to be a sufficient indication to you that you should be at it on your own account.”
Eileen’s ardour set a spark aglow in Phil, but, manlike, he was prone to ignore it and even to argue against her conclusions.
“You must pardon me if I have said too much,” apologised Eileen at last, “only, only I have tried to speak for your own good, and Jim’s, for there is so much good in Jim that just wants elbow room;––and besides, knowing what I know, I should like so much to see you make good.”