His faults were not of a nature to rob his father's cup of all its sweetness and to bring his grey hairs with sorrow to the grave.

Old Wharton had never had to ask himself whether he should now, at length, let his son fall into the lowest abysses, or whether he should yet again struggle to put him on his legs, again forgive him, again pay his debts, again endeavour to forget dishonour, and place it all to the score of thoughtless youth.

Had it been so, I think that, if not on the first or second fall, certainly on the third, the young man would have gone into the abyss; for Mr.
Wharton was a stern man, and capable of coming to a clear conclusion on things that were nearest and even dearest to himself.

But Everett Wharton had simply shown himself to be inefficient to earn his own bread.

He had never declined even to do this,--but had simply been inefficient.