“The work is never done.”
“You left before I did.”
The elder Chase’s eyes flashed. “My movements have nothing to do with it. Your place is at the office till four-thirty every day. Don’t imagine, because you’re my son, you’ll receive any favoritism.”
“It seems to work the other way,” said Wint.
“It does work the other way. You’re on trial, guilty till proved innocent, worthless till proved otherwise. Some fathers.... A boy expelled from college for drunkenness.... You’re lucky that I am so lenient with you, young man.”
“Am I?”
“Now, Wint,” his mother interjected. “Don’t you aggravate your father. Goodness knows it’s hard enough to get along with him—”
“Margaret!”
“Well, I mean, you oughtn’t to—”
Wint rose abruptly. “Nagging never did any good,” he said. “I mean to—do my part.” He flamed suddenly. “But—for Heaven’s sake—don’t talk me to death.”