“I shouldn’t get more like other people, only more like other Oxford men.”
Peter scowled. He intensely disapproved of the kid’s verbal nimbleness, which his more weighty, more reputable argument could only lumber after.
“You’ve got to remember you’re a gentleman’s son,” he remarked in a voice which suggested sitting down just as Gervase’s had suggested a skip and a jump.
“Well, lots of them go in for engineering. We’re in such a groove. I daresay you think this is just a sudden idea of mine——”
“You’ve just told me it is.”
“I know, but I’ve been thinking for ages that I didn’t want to go to Oxford. If I took up engineering I could go into a shop at Ashford.... But I’ll have to talk to Father about it. I expect he’ll be frightfully upset—the only Alard who hasn’t been to the Varsity and all that ... but, on the other hand, he’s never bothered about me so much as about you and George, because there’s no chance of my coming into the estate.”
“I wouldn’t be too sure,” gibed Peter.
“Yes, of course, you might both die just to spite me—but it wouldn’t be sporting of you. I don’t want to be Sir Gervase Alard, Bart.—I’d much rather be Alard and Co., Motor-engineers.”
“You damn well shan’t be that.”
“Well, it’s a long time ahead, anyway. But do back me up against Father about not going to Oxford. It really ought to help us a lot if I don’t go—a son at the ’Varsity’s a dreadful expense, and when that son’s me, it’s a waste into the bargain.”