"Settle down," said the young man with mock pathos, "which in my case
means settling up also. I suppose it is what you would call the crucial
moment in my life. I am going in for politics, as I always intended,
and for the rest I shall live a quiet country life at Etterick. I've a
wonderful talent for rusticity."

The Doctor shot an inquiring glance from beneath the flaps of his hat.
"I never can make up my mind about you, Lewie."

"I daresay not. It is long since I gave up trying to make up my mind
about myself."

"When you were a very small and very bad boy I made the usual prophecy
that you would make a spoon or spoil a horn. Later I declared you would
make the spoon. I still keep to that opinion, but I wish to goodness I
knew what shape your spoon would take."

"Ornamental, Doctor, some odd fancy spoon, but not useful. I feel an
inner lack of usefulness."

"Humph! Then things are serious, Lewie, and I, as your elder, should
give advice; but confound it, my dear, I cannot think what it should be.
Life has been too easy for you, a great deal too easy. You want a
little of the salt and iron of the world. You are too clever ever to be
conceited, and you are too good a fellow ever to be a fool, but apart
from these sad alternatives there are numerous middle stages which are
not very happy."

The young man's face lengthened, as it always did either in repose or
reflection.