It touched him that his father cared to come.  He changed his plans and made it possible to take the train home with him after the exercises, instead of waiting a day or two to pack up, as he had expected to do.  The packing could wait awhile.  So he went home with his father.

They had a long talk on the way, one of the most intimate that they had ever had.  It appeared during the course of conversation that Mr. Courtland had heard of the offer made to his son by Ramsey Thomas, and that he was not unfavorable to its acceptance.

“Of course, you don’t really need to do anything of the sort, you know, Paul,” he said, affably.  “You’ve got what your mother left you now, and on your twenty-fifth birthday there will be two hundred and fifty thousand coming to you from your Grandfather Courtland’s estate.  You could spend your life in travel and study if you cared to, but I fancy, with your temperament, you wouldn’t be quite satisfied with an idle life like that.  What’s your objection to this job?”

Courtland told the whole story carefully, omitting no detail of the matter concerning conditions at the factory, and the matters at which he was not only expected to wink, but also sometimes to help along by his influence.  He realized, as he told it, that his father would look at the thing fairly, but very differently.

“Well, after all,” said the father, comfortably settling himself to another cigar, “that’s all a matter of sentiment.  It doesn’t do to be too squeamish, you know, if you have ambitions.  Besides, with your income you would have been able to help out and do a lot of good.  You ought to have thought of that.”

“In other words, earn my salary by squeezing the life out of them and then toss them a penny to buy medicine.  I don’t see it that way!  No, dad, if I can’t work at something clean I’ll go out and work in the ground, or do nothing, but I won’t oppress the poor.”

“Oh, well, Paul, that’s all right if you feel that way about of it, of course.  Ramsey Thomas wanted me to talk it over with you; promised to do the square thing by you and all that; and he’s a pretty good man to get in with.  Of course I won’t urge you against your will.  But what are you going to do, son?  Haven’t you thought of anything?”

“Yes,” said Courtland, leaning back and looking steadily at his father.  “I’ve decided that I’d like to study theology.”

“Theology!” The father started and knocked an ash delicately from the end of his cigar.  “H’m!  Well, that’s not a bad idea!  Rather odd, perhaps, but still there’s always dignity and distinction in it.  Your great grandfather on your mother’s side was a clergyman in the Church of England.  Of course it’s rather a surprise, but it’s always respectable, and with your money you would be independent.  You wouldn’t have any trouble in getting a wealthy and influential church, either.  I could manage that, I think.”