“If I can be at rest about my wife and James, leaving them in your care—and if I can be certain,” Joseph went on reluctantly, “that while I am away you yourself will not—will not—”
“Will not get drunk too often and disgrace you,” finished Dad. “I understand. Go on.”
“I—Marcia and I have talked it all over,” continued Joseph, visibly relieved, “and we have decided to ask you to close the cottage for the time I am away and come up to our house. A room will be ready for you there. And I shall feel much easier, leaving you in charge. You can look out for Marcia and James so much better when you are living under the same roof with them. And so we—”
Slowly Dad rose. Stooping, he picked up his hat and stood facing his son. The fire was gone from his eyes, the flush from his cheek. He looked very old.
“You’re right, Joe,” he said at last. “Dead right. It’s a way you’ve got. I see it. I was an old fool. I’m complimented that Marcia should want me at the house. Because I always felt she hated my calling there.
“I’ll do as you say. I’ll take the best care of her and Jimmie that I can. And I’ll—I’ll try not to do anything while you’re gone to make you and Marcia too much ashamed of me.
“After all, I’ve had my fighting day. Had it and smashed it. And the only way I can help now is to make it easier for my son to go to fight. I’ll put the dream aside. I’ll do what you say.”
Turning, he walked gropingly from the office and down the long aisle. His sight was suddenly dimmed. So much so that he almost collided with a well-dressed woman who had just entered the store and was walking toward the office.
The woman drew disgustedly aside from his wavering pathway and passed on toward the glass door beyond. The man had not seen her.
But as he left the store he heard one clerk say to another: