“My son’s name was Peal, but yours is Jubal, and I don’t know Jubal.”
“You disown me?”
“As you disowned yourself and your mother.”
“Why did you rob me of my will when I was a little child?”
“You gave your will to a woman.”
“I had to, because it was the only way of winning her. But why did you tell me I had no will?”
“Well, your father told you that, my boy, and he knew no better; you must forgive him, for he is dead now. Children, you see, are not supposed to have a will of their own, but grown-up people are.”
“How well you explain it all, mother! Children are not supposed to have a will, but grown-up people are.”
“Now, listen to me, Gustav,” said his mother, “Gustav Peal....”
These were his two real names, and when he heard them from her lips, he became himself again. All the parts he had played—kings and demons, the maestro and the model—cut and ran, and he was but the son of his mother.