spoke to me recently about your desire to spend a year in and about the
London hospitals before settling down to the real business of life. I've
been thinking it over. You can't very well afford to pay for these
finishing touches after you've begun struggling along on your own hook,
and trying to make both ends meet on a slender income, so I'd suggest that
you take this next year as a gift from me and spend it on the other side,
working with my good friend, Sir George Bascombe, the greatest of all the
English surgeons. I don't believe you will ever regret it."

Braden was overjoyed. "I should like nothing better, grandfather. By jove,
you are good to me. You—"

"It is only right and just that I should give to the last of my race the
chance to be a credit to it." There was something cryptic in the remark,
but naturally it escaped Braden's notice. "You are the only one of the
Thorpes left, my boy. I was an only son and, strange as it may appear, I
was singularly without avuncular relatives. It is not surprising,
therefore, that I should desire to make a great man out of you. You shall
not be handicapped by any failure on my part to do the right thing by you.
If it is in my power to safeguard you, it is my duty to exercise that
power. Nothing must be allowed to stand in the way or to obstruct your
progress. Nothing must be allowed to check your ambition or destroy your
courage. So, if you please, I think you ought to have this chance to work
with Bascombe. A year is a short time to a chap of your age and
experience, and it may be the most valuable one in a long and successful
life."

"If I can ever grow to be half as wise and half as successful as you,
grandfather, I shall have achieved more than—"