to his lot. Now they felt certain of his success. They gravely discussed methods for winning fame and fortune, and were not only profound, but even cynical at times. They had quite a store of maxims which they called the right dope. When they asked him what he was going to do he smiled mysteriously and shook his head. He did this purely in self-defense. But they said he was a deep one.
He left them, immensely comforted. It was only when he was in his room an hour later, trying to go to sleep, that the grim reality of his tragedy came to him. What, he asked himself bitterly, could he do? He was almost helpless in the grasp of the terrible monster called the world. His hands were tied—almost in handcuffs.
The thought made him close his teeth tightly. He would do it somehow. Fate had tom from his bleeding heart the right to have friends. He would regain the right. He fell asleep while in this fighting mood.
When Tommy walked into the dining-room the next morning to have breakfast with his father, he was surprised to find himself wondering over the particular form of salutation. He desired his father to know what his plans were and what caused them. And also his loyalty must be made plain. Therefore, he said with a cheerfulness, he could not help exaggerating:
“Good morning, dad!”
Mr. Leigh looked up quickly, almost apprehensively, at his only son. Then he looked away and said, very quietly, “Good morning, my son.” There was an awkward pause. Mr. Leigh could not see the smile of loyalty that Tommy had forced his lips to show for his father's special benefit. So Tommy decided that he must encourage Mr. Leigh verbally. He said, with a brisk sort of earnestness:
“Well, I answered several ads in the Herald. This is the one I particularly like.”
He took from his pocket the Dayton call and gave it to Mr. Leigh.
Mr. Leigh took it with so pitiful an eagerness that Tommy felt very sorry for him. When he finished reading Mr. Leigh frowned. Tommy wondered why.
Presently the old man asked, almost diffidently, “Do you think you—you can meet the expected requirements?”
Tommy's entire life-to-be passed pageant-like before his mind's eye in a twinkling. The banners were proudly borne by Tommy's emotions; and Tommy's resolve to do what he must was the drum-major.
“Sure thing!” answered' Tommy. He felt the false note in his reply even before he saw the change that came over his father's face. “Yes, sir,” pursued Mr. Thomas Leigh, in a distinctly middle-aged voice. “I don't know what he wants, but I know what I want. And if I want to be a man and he wants me to be one, I can't see what's to hinder either of us. My boy days are over, and I have got to pay back—I'm going to do what I can to show I appreciate your”—here Tommy gulped—“the sacrifices you've made for me. And—oh, father!” Tommy ceased to speak. He couldn't help it.
Mr. Leigh's face took on the grim look Tommy could never forget, and his voice was harsh.
“I have made no sacrifice for you. What your mother wished you to have I have seen to it that you had. You owe me no thanks.”
There was a long pause. Tommy didn't break it, because he did not know what to say. And the reason was that he couldn't say all the things he wished to say. But presently the old man said, gently:
“My son, I—I should like to shake hands with you.”
Tommy would have been happier if he could have thrown his arms about his mother's neck and told her his craving to comfort himself by being comforted. But he rose quickly, grasped his father's hand, and shook it vehemently. He kept on shaking it, gripping it very tightly the while and gulping as he shook, until Mr. Leigh said:
“I'll be going now, Thomas. I must be at the bank before the—”
Tommy dropped his father's hand very suddenly.
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