Mr. Lorton rose to his feet, evidently under the impression that the interview had ended.
“Oh, not at all,” he said, “not at all, we are only too happy to have been of any assistance.”
He moved towards the door. But my father motioned him back. Somewhat less agreeably, I thought, he sat down again. Allowing him a moment for this, my father then proceeded.
“Sensible as I am,” he said, “both of the justice, and I may say discernment, of your suggestion, neither on financial nor hygienic grounds am I able to entertain it; and indeed in its main outlines the province of my son’s future has already been delineated for us. Second to none in my admiration of the noble calling to which you have referred, surely they are nobler who have created the means by which our missionaries subsist, and who, of the wealth that their efforts have amassed, continue to support these emissaries of religion. It is therefore to Commerce that my son has been called, but in his first introduction to this sacred field, we have only thought it right to afford you the opportunity of being the possible instrument of Providence.”
“I see,” said Mr. Lorton. “That is very kind of you.”
“Take away the number,” said his wife, “that you first thought of.”
My father stared at her. But she appeared to be in a kind of stupor, and it seemed more merciful to avert his eyes.
“It has in fact occurred to us,” he said, “or rather to me—for it was to me personally that the idea was vouchsafed—that your brother Chrysostom would be glad to hear that my son’s services were now available.”
For two or three moments Mr. Lorton seemed to struggle for breath. Then he made a meaningless sound like that of a small animal.
“My brother C—Chrysostom?” he said at last. “But in what capacity would you propose to offer your son?”