His ambition, as far as this world's gear went, was quietly to earn his thirty or thirty-five shillings a week somewhere near home, and then, when his father died, have a cottage with his mother, paint and go out as he liked, and live happy ever after.

That was his programme as far as doing things went.

But he was proud within himself, measuring people against himself, and placing them, inexorably.

And he thought that PERHAPS he might also make a painter, the real thing.

But that he left alone.
"Then," said his mother, "you must look in the paper for the advertisements." He looked at her.