The argument so long pending he knew was now to be finally settled, and he was by no means unprepared for the discussion. He came slowly down stairs, counting the points he wished to make on his fingers, and quite resolved neither to be coaxed nor bullied out of his own individual opinion. He was a handsome, stalwart fellow, as Scotchmen of two-and-twenty go, for it takes about thirty-five years to fill up and perfect the massive frames of "the men of old Gaul." About his thirty-fifth year David would doubtless be a man of noble presence; but even now there was a sense of youth and power about him that was very attractive, as with a grave smile he lifted a book, and comfortably disposed himself in an easy chair by the window. For David knew better than begin the conversation; any advantages the defendant might have he determined to retain. After a few minutes' silence his father said, "What are you reading, Davie? It ought to be a guid book that puts guid company in the background." David leisurely turned to the title page. "'Selections from the Latin Poets,' father." "A fool is never a great fool until he kens Latin. Adam Smith or some book o' commercial economics wad set ye better, Davie." "Adam Smith is good company for them that are going his way, father: but there is no way a man may take and not find the humanities good road-fellows." "Dinna beat around the bush, guidman; tell Davie at once that you want him to go 'prentice to Mammon. He kens well enough whether he can serve him or no." "I want Davie to go 'prentice to your ain brither, guid wife--it's nane o' my doing if you ca' your ain kin ill names--and, Davie, your uncle maks you a fair offer, an' you'll just be a born fool to refuse it." "What is it, father?" "Twa years you are to serve him for £200 a year; and at the end, if both are satisfied, he will gie you sich a share in the business as I can buy you--and, Davie, I'se no be scrimping for such an end. It's the auldest bank in Soho, an' there's nane atween you and the head o' it. Dinna fling awa' good fortune--dinna do it, Davie, my dear lad. I hae look it to you for twenty years to finish what I hae begun--for twenty years I hae been telling mysel' 'my Davie will win again the bonnie braes o' Ellenmount.'" There were tears in old Andrew's eyes, and David's heart thrilled and warmed to the old man's words; in that one flash of sympathy they came nearer to each other than they had ever done before.