The wilful, splendid
character of the youth overcame the insistence in the other's nature.
"You seem to be getting on all right," remarked Carnac with the faint
brown moustache, the fine, showy teeth, the clean-shaven cheeks, and
auburn hair hanging loosely down.
"You're wrong. Things aren't doing as well with me as they might.
Belloc and the others make difficult going. I've got too much to do
myself. I want help."
"You had it in Fabian," remarked Carnac dryly. "Well, I've lost it, and
it never was enough. He hadn't vision, sense and decision."
"And so you come to me, eh? I always thought you despised me," said
Carnac.
A half-tender, half-repellent expression came into the old man's face.
He spoke bluntly. "I always thought you had three times the brains of
your brother. You're not like me, and you're not like your mother;
there's something in you that means vision, and seeing things, and doing
them. If fifteen thousand dollars a year and a share in the business is
any good to you--"
For an instant there had been pleasure and wonder in the young man's
eyes, but at the sound of the money and the share in the business he
shrank back.
"I don't think so, father. I'm happy enough. I've got all I want."
"What the devil are you talking about!" the other burst out.
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