When I informed Andrew Christian of the bequest I added that I had practically made up my mind to refuse it. He gave me that look which always seemed about to tell you a good joke.
“Why do you think he left you anything?”
“I suppose he wanted to feel that if the worse came to the worst I shouldn’t be quite penniless.”
“But why should he want to feel that?”
“Well, hang it all, sir, when everything is said and done I was his son!”
“You were his son, and he—he cared for you.”
“He cared for me to—to that extent.”
“And considering your attitude toward him, could you expect him to care for you more?”
I said, unwillingly, “No, I suppose not.”