“I’ll do whatever you say, Dad,” said Lewis.

“I suggest that you fix your marriage for six months from now,” went on Leighton.  “That will give us time to go over and untangle certain affairs, including the house, on the other side.  It isn’t altogether on account of the house I want to take you over.”

Lewis had winced at six months.  Now he looked questioningly at his father.

“Keep your eyes open as you go through life,” continued Leighton, “and you’ll see that marriage is a great divisor.  All the sums of friendship and relation are cut in two by marriage.  You and I, we’ve been friends, and before I surrender you I think it’s only just that I should take you over and introduce you to your inheritance.”

“My inheritance?” asked Lewis.

“Yes,” said Leighton, “your country.”

“You might think,” continued Leighton, “that I’m an expatriate.  Externally I have been, but never in the heart.  I’ve been waiting—­waiting for our country to catch up to me.  Under certain conditions a man has the right to pick out the stage of civilization best adapted to his needs.  There are two ways of doing that:  either go to it or make it come to you.  If you’re not tied, it’s easier to go to it, because sometimes it takes more than a generation to make it come to you.”

“So you’ve gone to it,” said Lewis.

Leighton nodded.

“Nations and individuals travel like the hands of a clock.  You can’t always live in the midday of your life, but you can in the midday of a nation.  When you get an educated taste, you prefer pheasants, bananas, Stilton, and nations when they’re at one o’clock.  The best flavor—­I’m not talking about emotions—­the best flavor of anything, including life, comes with one o’clock.”

“What time is it over there now?” asked Leighton.

“About eleven,” said Leighton, “top wave of success.  Now, these are the earmarks of success:  a meticulous morality in trifles, ingrowing eyes, crudity, enthusiasm, and a majority.”

“Heavens!” cried Lewis, “you told me once you were afraid I was going to be successful.  Am I earmarked like that?”

“You will be,” said Leighton, “the minute you’re driven to sculpturing for the populace—­for what it will bring.  That’s why I’m giving you your own income now, because, when you’re married, you’re going to be pretty hard pressed.  I don’t want you to be able to justify the sale of your soul.

“I had an uncle once—­he’s dead now—­that had an only son named Will.  Uncle Jim was a hard worker.  He had a paper-mill, and he was worth a lot of money.  His son Will wasn’t a worker.  He didn’t own the paper-mill, but he never let you forget he was going to.  He failed his way through school, but he couldn’t quite fail through college.  Every time he failed at anything, he used to say:  ’It doesn’t matter.  Dad will give me a start in life, won’t you, Dad?’ And his father would say, ’I certainly will.’