The Prodigal FatherClouston, J. Storer (Joseph Storer)
General
The Prodigal Father
Clouston, J. Storer (Joseph Storer)
Scotland -- Fiction
"You'll find it easier," he began bitterly, "to set people talking than
to--"
"When you come to think of it, the situation is not without decided
advantages," his father interrupted, springing up and pacing the room
with an animated air. "Just think of the renewed opportunities for doing
all kinds of useful and beneficial things! I might take a more prominent
part in public life: I might even go in for politics. I certainly shall
take a bit of salmon-fishing. The study of some of our classical authors
suggests itself as a relaxation for my leisure moments. The subjects of
aeroplanes and national defense are worthy of consideration, too. I
should like to visit several of the continental countries--our own
colonies are even more attractive; there wouldn't be the same
difficulties about the language. Or, by Jingo, Andrew, I might learn
French and Italian! Yes, the position is not without its compensations."
He stopped beside his son and laid his hand upon his shoulder.
"I propose to widen greatly the scope of my energies, without in the
least forfeiting the respect of my fellow-citizens. That is my ideal,
Andrew. Ah, my boy, you and I will have some great times together! By
that I mean, of course, some beneficial and profitable times."
He took a sudden step forward and kicked the wastepaper-basket into the
fireplace.
"I might even take up football some day, if this goes on," he smiled,
and then abruptly recovered his solemnity.
"Beneficial and profitable," he repeated gravely. "Those are to be our
watchwords. Will you have a weed?"
The junior partner started out of the reverie into which he had fallen.
"Are you going to start smoking _here_?" he cried.
"Why the deuce shouldn't I? It's my own office. These old-fashioned
ideas of yours about not smoking on business premises are getting out
of date. Besides, it keeps the flies away. And now I must get on to my
correspondence."
With a cigar in the corner of his mouth and humming something resembling
an air, the senior partner dashed into his day's work with the ardor of
an egg-collector.
CHAPTER V
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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