"Have I? I'm sorry. The aim and object of life at present is to make money."
The Rev. Hugh regarded his son with quiet approval. "It keeps you occupied," he said, "and as long as you're honest."
Jack was silent. "As a general rule I am," he said, at length. "Stole a basketful of coal the other day, though."
"Coal? Whatever for?"
"Gave it away to the poor." He waved his arm lightly with a smile.
His father smiled too, he had Jack's eyes, grey and shrewd. "To a certain extent the end justified the means," he said, "That is, in the common court of our conscience. I suppose it was very cold up in Scotland?"
"On that particular day it was, I think, if anything warmer than it is down here to-day. I should like to be whitewashed, but—the end was a very pretty gipsy girl, whom I afterwards kissed, and punched her affianced husband—broke his leg."
"Good gracious! you're joking."
"Not a bit, mater. I'm going to shine as the villain of the family; it's in me, for under the given circumstance, I'd do the same again." He gave them the main outlines of the case, concisely, hiding nothing.
"I think you'd better leave Scotland," his mother said.