"I've thought it all out, Poskitt," he resumed. "You see, there are all
sorts of professions and trades. Well, if you go into a profession,
you've got to spend a great deal of money before you can make any. And
in some trades you have to lay out a good deal before you can receive
any profit. But there are trades, Poskitt, in which you get your money
back very quickly--with profit. Now, do you know, Poskitt, the only
trades are those which are dependent on what people _want_. You can't
live without food, or clothes, or boots. Food, Poskitt, is the most
important thing, isn't it? And why I talked to you is because I think
you're the wisest boy in the school--which trade would you recommend me
to enter upon?"
"Go and be a butcher!" I answered. "Like your father."
He shook his head in mild and deprecating fashion.
"I don't like the smell of meat," he said. "No--I shall take up some
other line."
Then, as the smell of dinner came from the dining-room, he added the
further remark that as our parents paid Doctor Scott regularly once a
quarter, we ought to have our money's worth, and so walked away to
receive his daily share of it.