"How much a year, George? How much a year? I suppose you must respect
Carlyle! Well, you take Carlyle's test--solvency. (Lord! what a book
that French Revolution of his is!) See what the world pays teachers and
discoverers and what it pays business men! That shows the ones it really
wants. There's a justice in these big things, George, over and above the
apparent injustice. I tell you it wants trade. It's Trade that makes the
world go round! Argosies! Venice! Empire!"

My uncle suddenly rose to his feet.

"You think it over, George. You think it over! And come up on Sunday
to the new place--we got rooms in Gower Street now--and see your aunt.
She's often asked for you, George often and often, and thrown it up at
me about that bit of property--though I've always said and always
will, that twenty-five shillings in the pound is what I'll pay you and
interest up to the nail. And think it over. It isn't me I ask you to
help. It's yourself. It's your aunt Susan. It's the whole concern.
It's the commerce of your country. And we want you badly. I tell you
straight, I know my limitations. You could take this place, you could
make it go! I can see you at it--looking rather sour. Woosh is the word,
George."

And he smiled endearingly.

"I got to dictate a letter," he said, ending the smile, and vanished
into the outer room.

III