The boy did not know quite what to answer.  Stephen Sanford insisted that the only reason Allen showed a preference for business was because he knew his father had set his heart on a different career for him.  It may have been merely an unconscious assertion of his budding manhood which rebelled against having his life-work laid out for him without consultation, just as his governess used to lay out his clothes.  At all events, from his very nature, Allen had not considered the matter as seriously as he now saw Alice had done, and he was entirely unequal to the task of holding up his end of the discussion.  So, after a few moments’ silence, during which she watched him with eager expectancy, he turned his face toward her, and grinned broadly.

“I’m mighty glad you are a girl,” he said, irrelevantly; “and I’m mighty glad you can’t go into business.”

Alice was disappointed on his account, but she chose to reply only to his reference to her.

“Of course,” she pouted.  “You men are all alike.  You’re selfish and unsympathetic.  You want all the interesting things for yourselves, and—­some of you—­don’t even know why you want them.”

“I really believe you’re getting personal.”  Allen laughed.  “Don’t knock; come right in.  Now, to heap coals of fire upon your head, I’ll tell you what I’ll do, Alice; I’ll divide chances with you, beginning with the first.”

“Do you mean to say you haven’t had even a first chance yet?”

He nodded cheerfully.  “Not a single first, to say nothing of doubtful seconds.”

“Then it’s because you haven’t tried,” she asserted.

“Of course; but that doesn’t mean that some one else hasn’t tried.  I’ve been the dutiful son, waiting for ‘papa’ to show him that the paternal way is the only way; but even the pater hasn’t proved a blooming success in that line.  The real trouble is that the old man is too conscientious.  Just as the President gets all worked up and just crazy to send me as minister plenipotentiary to the Republic of Zuzu, the pater coughs guiltily, and murmurs, ’Oh, yes; he’s a good boy, if he is my son, but he hasn’t been brought up in my school,’ and shows by every movement that he knows he’s passing off a gold brick.  Then, of course, the whole game is up.”

“Why doesn’t he take you into his own business?” Mrs. Gorham asked.

“Jealousy or judgment; can’t say which.”

“Do be serious, Allen,” Alice insisted.  “I don’t believe you have any strong feelings about it anyway.  No wonder your father gets out of patience with you if you talk to him about it as you do to us.”

“Oh, he gets out of patience, all right,” Allen admitted, “but it’s simply because he can’t refute my arguments.  He talks about what he was doing at my age, but I tell him my record is a whole lot better than his.  He couldn’t afford to go to college, while I could, and at the same proud point in our careers I was successfully touching him for five hundred a month, while he was with great difficulty earning a hundred and fifty, on which he supported a family.  But the pater—­well, the pater has a way of looking at things which is all his own.”