“I have proved my mettle to the extent of being a waiter,” said Wynne, “and that isn’t as far as I want my mettle to carry me.”
“You might be here for years.”
“Perhaps. It will be my fault if I am. I have to prove my right to climb. Help would disprove it.”
“ ’Pon my soul I admire your pluck.”
“It’s all you do admire, isn’t it?”
“Ah, get away with you! I talk a lot, that’s all; but I’ve a mighty strong conviction that you’ll do.”
“I’ll do and do,” said Wynne. “Maybe you won’t approve, but I hope you will.”
“I hope so, and believe so—for the elements are yours—but I shan’t tell you so if I don’t.”
With which somewhat cryptic remark they parted. Wynne had not gone very far down the street, however, before he was overtaken by a somewhat breathless Uncle Clem, who said:
“But, for God’s sake, fall in love if you can.”