The light was shining full upon Dr. Boekman's face. How contented he looked; how much younger and brighter than formerly. The hard lines were quite melting away. He was laughing as he said to the father, "Am I not a happy man, Raff Brinker? My son will sell out his factory this month and open a warehouse in Amsterdam. I shall have all my spectacle cases for nothing."
Hans started from his reverie. "A warehouse, mynheer! And will Thomas Higgs--I mean, is your son not to be your assistant again?"
A shade passed over the meester's face, but he brightened with an effort as he replied, "Oh, no, Laurens has had quite enough of that. He wishes to be a merchant."
Hans appeared so surprised and disappointed that his friend asked good-naturedly, "Why so silent, boy? Is it any disgrace to be a merchant?"
"N-not a disgrace, mynheer," stammered Hans, "but--"
"Why, the other calling is so much better," answered Hans, "so much nobler. I think, mynheer," he added with enthusiasm, "that to be a surgeon, to cure the sick and crippled, to save human life, to be able to do what you have done for my father, is the grandest thing on earth."
The doctor was regarding him sternly. Hans felt rebuked. His cheeks were flushed; hot tears were gathering under his lashes.
"It is an ugly business, boy, this surgery," said the doctor, still frowning at Hans. "It requires great patience, self-denial, and perseverance."
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