She turned to Oakley. “I am afraid I rather agree with your father. He seems happy enough, and he is doing work for which there is a demand.”
“Would you be content to live here with no greater opportunity than he has?”
Oakley laughed and shook his head.
“No. But that's not the same. I'll pull the Huckleberry up and make it pay, and then go in for something bigger.”
“And if you can't make it pay?”
“I won't bother with it, then.”
“But if you had to remain?”
Oakley gave her an incredulous smile.
“That couldn't be possible. I have done all sorts of things but stick in what I found to be undesirable berths; but, of course, business is not at all the same.”
“But isn't it? Look at Mr. Ryder. He says that he is buried here in the pine-woods, with no hope of ever getting back into the world, and I am sure he is able, and journalism is certainly a business, like anything else.”