When he was tired he rushed to a desk, tore a cheque from a book and filled it in for a sum of L2,300 to bearer, which cheque he blotted, crumpled up and literally threw at the head of his son.
"You worthless, idle young scoundrel," he bellowed.

"I put you in this office here that you may learn respectable and orderly habits and in due course succeed to a very comfortable business.

What happens?
You don't take a ha'porth of interest in bullion-broking, a subject of which I believe you to remain profoundly ignorant.

You don't even spend your money, or rather my money, upon any gentleman-like vice, such as horse-racing, or cards, or even--well, never mind.

No, you take to flowers, miserable, beastly flowers, things that a cow eats and clerks grow in back gardens." "An ancient and Arcadian taste.