e to his hand, with plenty of capital not of his own
acquiring--something for occupation, not of necessity. It came home to
him that his father was his only resource, and that of his father's
affairs he knew next to nothing.

In addition to his affection for him, he had always had an unquestioning
confidence in his father. It was his earliest recollection, and he still
retained it to almost a childish extent. There had always been plenty.
His own allowance, from time to time increased, though never
extravagant, had always been ample, and on the one occasion when he had
grievously exceeded it the excess had been paid with no more protest
than a gentle "I think you ought not to have done this." The two had
lived together when John was at home without ostentation or any
appearance of style, but with every essential of luxury. The house and
its furnishings were old-fashioned, but everything was of the best, and
when three or four of the elder man's friends would come to dine, as
happened occasionally, the contents of the cellar made them look at each
other over their glasses. Mr. Lenox was very reticent in all matters
relating to himself, and in his talks with his son, which were mostly at
the table, rarely spoke of business matters in general, and almost never
of his own. He had read well, and was fond of talking of his reading
when he felt in the vein of talking, which was not always; but John had
invariably found him ready with comment and sympathy upon the topics in
which he himself had interest, and there was a strong if undemonstrative
affection between the father and son.

It was not strange, perhaps, all things considered, that John had come
even to nearly six-and-twenty with no more settled intentions; that his
boyhood should have been so long. He was not at all of a reckless
disposition, and, notwithstanding the desultory way in which he had
spent time, he had strong mental and moral fiber, and was capable of
feeling deeply and enduringly. He had been desultory, but never before
had he had much reason or warning against it. But now, he reflected, a
time had come. Work he must, if only for work's sake, and work he would;
and there was a touch of self-reproach in the thought of his father's
increasing years and of his lonely life. He might have been a help and a
companion during those two years of his not very fruitful European
sojourn, and he would lose no time in finding out what there was for him
to do, and in s