He smiled genially upon his gaping companions. "They are all good open-air jobs," he explained. Pipette stiffened in her chair. "But they will none of them do," he added. Pipette relaxed again. "This," said Hanbury, "is interesting and human. We must have your reasons for rejecting these noble callings, _seriatim_. A cricket-pro, for instance?" "Once a 'pro' always a 'pro,'" said Pip. "I hope some day to play as an amateur again. And while we are on the subject, I may as well say that I'm _not_ going to be a professional-amateur. No two hundred a year as assistant-deputy-under-secretary to a county club for me, please!" "Good boy," said Hanbury. "Now, please--gamekeeper?" "I'm too old. A gamekeeper requires to be born to the job. I have the ordinary sporting man's knowledge of game and sport generally, but I should be a hundred before I learned as much about the real ins and outs of the business as--a poacher's baby." "Quite so. Policeman?" "The only chance of promotion in the police force is in the detective direction, and I--I think detection comes under the head of learned professions." "Tommy, then?" "A Tommy's would be a grand life if there was always a war. But, Ham, think what the existence of a gentleman-ranker must be in time of peace. A few hours' duty a day, and the rest--beer and nursemaids! Help!" "You have been devoting much time to reflection, Pip. Well, to continue. How about emigrating?" "Emigration is such a tremendously big step. If one is prepared for it, well and good. But I'm not ripe yet. You see, Canada and Australia are so far away, and I'm not quite prepared to give up--" "England, home, _and_ beauty--eh, Pip? Is that how the wind blows?" "Dry up!" said Pip, hastily passing on to his peroration. "Before I try any of these things I am going to see how my own pet scheme pans out." "And that is--?" said Pipette breathlessly. "I can use my hands a bit, and have a sort of rough knowledge of mechanics," continued Pip, staring into the fire and stating his case with maddening deliberation, "and I don't mind hard work. Mind you--" "Pip, _do_ get on!" almost screamed poor Pipette. Pip, looking slightly surprised, came to the point. "I am going to try for a job," said he, "at a big motor works I know of. I will start as a cleaner, or greaser, or anything they please, if they'll take me; and when I have got a practical knowledge of the ins and outs of the business, I shall try to set up as a chauffeur." He broke off, and scanned his hearers' faces rather defiantly. "How do you like the idea?" he asked. "You'd get horribly dirty, Pip," said practical Pipette. "Think of the oil!" Pip laughed. "I'll get used to that." "And how long would you stick to it?" "What, the oil?" "No, the trade." "That depends. If I find the life absolutely unbearable for any reason--Trades Unions, for instance--I shall jack it up. But I don't think it is very likely."