“I don’t think there’s much object in being a second-rate painter, and I came to the conclusion that I should never be anything else.”
“You surprise me. Before you went to Paris you were quite certain that you were a genius.”
“I was mistaken,” said Philip.
“I should have thought now you’d taken up a profession you’d have the pride to stick to it. It seems to me that what you lack is perseverance.”
Philip was a little annoyed that his uncle did not even see how truly heroic his determination was.
“‘A rolling stone gathers no moss,’” proceeded the clergyman. Philip hated that proverb above all, and it seemed to him perfectly meaningless. His uncle had repeated it often during the arguments which had preceded his departure from business. Apparently it recalled that occasion to his guardian.
“You’re no longer a boy, you know; you must begin to think of settling down. First you insist on becoming a chartered accountant, and then you get tired of that and you want to become a painter. And now if you please you change your mind again. It points to…”
He hesitated for a moment to consider what defects of character exactly it indicated, and Philip finished the sentence.
“Irresolution, incompetence, want of foresight, and lack of determination.”
The Vicar looked up at his nephew quickly to see whether he was laughing at him. Philip’s face was serious, but there was a twinkle in his eyes which irritated him. Philip should really be getting more serious. He felt it right to give him a rap over the knuckles.