"Aren't you well, father?" he asked.
"Oh yes, I'm well—a bit thinner, that's all. I'd begun to run to fat, you know, sitting about in offices. There's nothing like hard work to take your flesh down."
That night, as they sat beside the fire, he talked with an interest he had never shown before about Arthur's prospects in life. He drew from him a particular account of his work upon the ranch, the scenery, the business possibilities in fruit-growing, and so forth.
"I suppose now men get rich out there pretty quick, don't they?"
"A few."
"But there's gold and copper in those hills, isn't there?"
"So they say. There are old men who have been looking for it all their lives, though, and they haven't found it."
"But you might find it, eh? You've education, and that counts for a lot anywhere. And you've brains—you could organise things. I wouldn't wonder if you were rich some day."
"I don't want to be rich, father. The rich people appear to me the unhappiest people in the world."
"Ah, that's true, too! It's the same everywhere. You see, if a man's born rich, he grows up to it, and knows how to behave. But when he gets rich, he generally makes a mess of things. Isn't used to it, and it goes to his head like wine." A long pause—and then, "What's the verse about choosing the better part? Well, I reckon you've chosen the better part. I didn't think so once, but I've begun to see a lot of new things of late, and that's one of them."