They had some long walks and long talks together, and in one of them Jeff opened his mind, if not his heart, to the painter.  He wanted to be the Landlord of the Lion’s Head, which he believed he could make the best hotel in the mountains.  He knew, of course, that he could not hope to make any changes that did not suit his mother and his brother, as long as they had the control, but he thought they would let him have the control sooner if his mother could only be got to give up the notion of his being a lawyer.  As nearly as he could guess, she wanted him to be a lawyer because she did not want him to be a hotel-keeper, and her prejudice against that was because she believed that selling liquor made her father a drunkard.

“Well, now you know enough about me, Mr. Westover, to know that drink isn’t my danger.”

“Yes, I think I do,” said Westover.

“I went a little wild in my Freshman year, and I got into that scrape, but I’ve never been the worse for liquor since; fact is, I never touch it now.  There isn’t any more reason why I should take to drink because I keep a hotel than Jackson; but just that one time has set mother against it, and I can’t seem to make her understand that once is enough for me.  Why, I should keep a temperance house, here, of course; you can’t do anything else in these days.  If I was left to choose between hotel-keeping and any other life that I know of, I’d choose it every time,” Jeff went on, after a moment of silence.  “I like a hotel.  You can be your own man from the start; the start’s made here, and I’ve helped to make it.  All you’ve got to do is to have common-sense in the hotel business, and you’re sure to succeed.  I believe I’ve got common-sense, and I believe I’ve got some ideas that I can work up into a great success.  The reason that most people fail in the hotel business is that they waste so much, and the landlord that wastes on his guests can’t treat them well.  It’s got so now that in the big city houses they can’t make anything on feeding people, and so they try to make it up on the rooms.  I should feed them well—­I believe I know how—­and I should make money on my table, as they do in Europe.

“I’ve thought a good many things out; my mind runs on it all the time; but I’m not going to bore you with it now.”

“Oh, not at all,” said Westover.  “I’d like to know what your ideas are.”

Well, some time I’ll tell you.  But look here, Mr. Westover, I wish if mother gets to talking about me with you that you’d let her know how I feel.  We can’t talk together, she and I, without quarrelling about it; but I guess you could put in a word that would show her I wasn’t quite a fool.  She thinks I’ve gone crazy from seeing the way they do things in Europe; that I’m conceited and unpatriotic, and I don’t know what all.”  Jeff laughed as if with an inner fondness for his mother’s wrong-headedness.

“And would you be willing to settle down here in the country for the rest of your life, and throw away your Harvard training on hotel-keeping?”