"So do I, mater," he agreed. "I want more money."
The Rev. Hugh's grey eyes twinkled merrily. "Everything comes to him who goes and fetches it," he said.
"That's an engineering precept, guv'nor. An engineer is a man who fetches things. You ought to have been an engineer, not a bally old parson."
"Jack!"
"Sorry, mater, that's a lapsus fungus, or words to that effect."
"Lapsus linguæ, you mean."
"Is it? Oh! fungus seemed to me rather suggestive of the tongue."
Jack was standing up with his back to the mantel-piece. His father smiled, then he stood up, too, and, laying a hand on his son's broad shoulder, looked with solemn, benevolent eyes into the eyes that were level with, and so like, his own. "Go on fetching things, my boy, but never forget that the object of life is happiness. And happiness is only possible to an easy conscience. It is nice to win the match, but better to lose than cheat. I should leave these gipsy girls alone, if I were you."
"Singular, if you please, guv'nor, it's only one, and she's gone away."
"Quite so. I was generalizing."