"That's just what I do!" said Rupert with emphasis. "But I could make a good living that way—I was brought up to it, you see;—and I s'pose she'd like me to take up the old business; but I feel like driving an awl through a board whenever I think of it."
"I wouldn't do it, Rupert, if I could do something I was more fit for. People always do things best that they like to do. I think the choice of a business is your affair. Do what you can do best. But I'd make shoes rather than do nothing."
"I don't know what I am fit for," said Rupert, evidently relieved, "but—oh yes, I would cobble shoes rather than do nothing. I don't want to eat idle bread. Then I'll go."
"Your experience here, in London and on this journey, will not have been lost to you," Dolly observed.
"It's been the best thing ever happened to me, this journey," said the young man. "And you've done me more good, Miss Dolly, than anybody in this world,—if it ain't my mother."
"I? I am very glad. I am sure you have done a great deal for me, Rupert."
"You have put me upon thinking. And till a fellow begins to think, he ain't much more good than a cabbage."
"When will you go, Rupert? I wish we were going too!"
"Well, I guess my old mother has sat lookin' for me long enough. I guess I'll start pretty soon."
"Will you?" said Dolly. "But not before we have made our visit to Mrs. Thayer's villa? We are going there next week."