"Pshaw! Have a little more charity, master George, and do not be so over-righteous. Some of the greatest men of your country have been lawyers." "But their being great men won't alter the fact; nor will my being charitable. When two clear-headed men take money to advocate the different sides of a case, each cannot think that his side is true." "Fiddlestick! But mind, I do not want you to be a lawyer. You must choose for yourself. If you don't like that way of earning your bread, there are others." "A man may be a doctor, to be sure; but I have no taste that way." "And is that the end of the list?" "There is literature. But literature, though the grandest occupation in the world for a man's leisure, is, I take it, a slavish profession." "Grub Street, eh? Yes, I should think so. You never heard of commerce, I suppose?" "Commerce. Yes, I have heard of it. But I doubt whether I have the necessary genius." The old man looked at him as though he doubted whether or no he were being laughed at. "The necessary kind of genius, I mean," continued George. "Very likely not. Your genius is adapted to dispersing, perhaps, rather than collecting." "I dare say it is, sir." "And I suppose you never heard of a man with a--what is it you call your degree? a double-first--going behind a counter. What sort of men are the double-lasts, I wonder!" "It is they, I rather think, who go behind the counters," said George, who had no idea of allowing his uncle to have all the raillery on his side. "Is it, sir? But I rather think they don't come out last when the pudding is to be proved by the eating. Success in life is not to be won by writing Greek verses; not though you write ever so many. A ship-load of them would not fetch you the value of this glass of wine at any market in the world." "Commerce is a grand thing," said George, with an air of conviction. "It is the proper work for men," said his uncle, proudly. "But I have always heard," replied the nephew, "that a man in this country has no right to look to commerce as a profession unless he possesses capital." Mr. Bertram, feeling that the tables had been turned against him, finished his glass of wine and poked the fire. A few days afterwards the same subject was again raised between them. "You must choose for yourself, George," said the old man; "and you should choose quickly." "If I could choose for myself--which I am aware that I cannot do; for circumstances, after all, will have the decision--but, if I could choose, I would go into Parliament." "Go where?" said Mr. Bertram, who would have thought it as reasonable if his nephew had proposed to take a house in Belgrave Square with the view of earning a livelihood. "Into Parliament, sir." "Is Parliament a profession? I never knew it before." "Perhaps not, ordinarily, a money-making profession; nor would I wish to make it so."