"Poor Boyee! Sometimes I hated the life, for you. But there was nobody to leave you with; and you were all I had. Anyway, it's turned out well, hasn't it?" "That remains to be seen for me, doesn't it? I'm rather at the start of things." "Most youngsters would be content with an unlimited allowance, and the world for a playground." "One gets tired of playing. _And_ of globe-trotting." "Good! Do you think you can make Worthington feel like home?" "How can I tell, sir? I haven't spent two weeks altogether in the place since I entered college eight years ago." "Did it ever strike you that I'd carefully planned to keep you away from here, and that our periods of companionship have all been abroad or at summer places?" "Yes." "You've never spoken of it." "No." "Good boy! Now I'll tell you why. I wanted to be absolutely established before I brought you back here. Not in business, alone. That came long ago. There have been obstacles, in other ways. They're all overcome. To-day we come pretty near to being king-pins in this town, you and I, Hal. Do you feel like a prince entering into his realm?" "Rather more like a freshman entering college," said the other, laughing. "It isn't the town, it's the business that I have misgivings about." "Misgivings? How's that?" asked the father quickly. "What I can do in it." "Oh, that. My doubts are whether it's the best thing for you." "Don't you want me to go into it, Dad?" "Of course I want you with me, Boyee. But--well, frank and flat, I don't know whether it's genteel enough for you." "Genteel?" The younger Surtaine repeated the distasteful adjective with surprise. "Some folks make fun of it, you know. It's the advertising that makes it a fair mark. 'Certina,' they say. 'That's where he made his money. Patent-medicine millions.' I don't mind it. But for you it's different." "If the money is good enough for me to spend, it's good enough for me to earn," said Hal Surtaine a little grandiloquently. "Humph! Well, the business is a big success, and I want you to be a big success. But that doesn't mean that I want to combine the two. Isn't there anything else you've ever thought of turning to?" "I've got something of a leaning toward your profession, Dad." "My prof--oh, you mean medicine." "Yes." "Nothing in it. Doctors are a lot of prejudiced pedants and hypocrites. Not one in a thousand is more than an inch wide. What started you on that?" "I hardly know. It was just a notion. I think the scientific and sociological side is what appeals to me. But my interest is only theoretical." "That's very well for a hobby. Not as a profession. Here we are, half an hour late, as usual."