Marjorie was very proud of her son. Mother-like, she overlooked all of his faults—saw him only through eyes of love, and did not attempt to look beneath the surface. To his father, though, Howard was not a young god. He saw him as he was: egotistical, reckless, a selfish young spendthrift.
Hugh called him into the library one evening after he had had time to consider the young man’s case.
“I want to have a little talk with you, Howard,” he told his son with a firmness that presaged no casual talk.
“All right, Dad, see that it is a little talk, as I have a date in town.” Howard dropped lazily on the davenport, extracted a cigarette from his new platinum case and blew rings of smoke toward the ceiling.
The parent eyed his offspring critically. He was considering him from all angles. Handsome enough, he thought, and there was self-satisfaction in his recognition of his own features in those of his sprawling son. But another thought came to drive away pleasure in any personal appearance.
“And insolent, too,” was the further thought, and an ominous frown accompanied the mental comment. But when he spoke aloud, it was slowly and with the dignity he always used when addressing Howard. He indicated the sprawling attitude.
“I prefer to have you sit up while I talk,” he said with unmistakable reproof, “and as for your—er—date—it will have to wait.”
“I say—” Howard began, but as he caught sight of his father’s stern countenance, he slowly straightened out of his reclining position, and sat waiting.
“Howard,” Hugh went directly to the point, “I haven’t been at all satisfied with your conduct during your three years at college——”
“Why, what’s the matter?” Howard’s tone conveyed genuine surprise. “Didn’t I graduate?”