"I will give it to you," said his father, and drew out his check-book.
But he did not hasten to open it; his eyes still rested on his son.
"Now," murmured the young man. "There is a train leaving soon. I wish to get it away on that train."
His father frowned with natural distrust.
"I wish you would confide in me," said he.
Frederick did not answer. The hands of the clock were moving on.
"I will give it to you; but I should like to know what for."
"It is impossible for me to tell you," groaned the young man, starting as he heard a step on the walk without.
"Your need has become strangely imperative," proceeded the other. "Has
Miss Page—-"
Frederick took a step forward and laid his hand on his father's arm.
"It is not for her," he whispered. "It goes into other hands."