He stopped. Albert was silent. His thoughts were confused, but out of their dismayed confusion two or three fixed ideas reared themselves like crags from a whirlpool. He was to live in South Hamiss always--always; he was to keep books--Heavens, how he hated mathematics, detail work of any kind!--for drunken old Keeler; he was to “heave lumber” with Issy Price. He--Oh, it was dreadful! It was horrible. He couldn't! He wouldn't! He--
Captain Zelotes had been watching him, his heavy brows drawing closer together as the boy delayed answering.
“Well?” he asked, for another minute. “Did you hear what I said?”
Albert was clutching at straws. “I--I don't know how to keep books,” he faltered.
“I didn't suppose you did. Don't imagine they teach anything as practical as bookkeepin' up at that school of yours. But you can larn, can't you?”
“I guess so, too. Good Lord, I HOPE so! Humph! You don't seem to be jumpin' for joy over the prospect. There's a half dozen smart young fellers here in South Harniss that would, I tell you that.”
Albert devoutly wished they had jumped--and landed--before his arrival. His grandfather's tone grew more brusque.
“Why, yes, I--I suppose I do. I--I hadn't thought much about it.”
“Humph! Then I think it's time you begun. Hadn't you had ANY notion of what you wanted to do when you got out of that school of yours?”
“Humph! . . . Yes, I presume likely. Well, after you got out of college, what was you plannin' to do then?”
“I wasn't sure. I thought I might do something with my music. I can play a little. I can't sing--that is, not well enough. If I could,” wistfully, “I should have liked to be in opera, as father was, of course.”
Captain Zelotes' only comment was a sniff or snort, or combination of both. Albert went on.
“I had thought of writing--writing books and poems, you know. I've written quite a good deal for the school magazine. And I think I should like to be an actor, perhaps. I--”
“Good God!” His grandfather's fist came down upon the desk before him. Slowly he shook his head.
“A--a poetry writer and an actor!” he repeated. “Whew! . . . Well, there! Perhaps maybe we hadn't better talk any more just now. You can have the rest of the day to run around town and sort of get acquainted, if you want to. Then to-morrow mornin' you and I'll come over here together and we'll begin to break you in. I shouldn't wonder,” he added, dryly, “if you found it kind of dull at first--compared to that school and poetry makin' and such--but it'll be respectable and it'll pay for board and clothes and somethin' to eat once in a while, which may not seem so important to you now as 'twill later on. And some day I cal'late--anyhow we'll hope--you'll be mighty glad you did it.”