I want you
to reconsider your decision of the other night."
Burton shook his head.
"I am afraid," he said, uneasily, "that that is not possible."
Mr. Bomford cleared his throat. He was only externally a fool.
"Mr. Burton," he declared, "you are an artist. Your child has the
makings of a great artist. Have you no desire to travel? Have you no
desire to see the famous picture galleries and cities of the Continent,
cities which have been the birthplaces of the men whose works you and
your son in days to come will regard with so much reverence?"
"I should like to travel very much indeed," Burton admitted.
"It is the opportunity to travel which we offer you," Mr. Bomford
reminded him. "It is the opportunity to surround yourself with
beautiful objects, the opportunity to make your life free from
anxieties, a cultured phase of being during which, removed from all
material cares, you can--er--develop yourself and the boy in any
direction you choose."
Mr. Bomford stopped and coughed. Again he was pleased with himself.
"Money is only vulgar," he went on, "to vulgar minds. And remember
this--that underlying the whole thing there is Truth. The beans which
you and the boy have eaten do contain something of the miraculous.
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