“I don’t see that it did any harm, but I wouldn’t be in your shoes for a quarter.” Then Bentley scudded away and Don closed the door.
The boy was about to go upstairs when his father called for him to come into the office, and he did so with reluctance; for, although he knew the doctor would speak with calmness and deliberation, he dreaded none the less what might be said to him.
“Sit down, my son,” said the doctor, who had taken off his overcoat and was seated before his desk. “Are you on very friendly terms with that Bentley boy?”
“Well—not very,” hesitated Don, feeling his face burning, while he failed to meet the calm, steady eyes that were regarding him intently.
“Not very friendly, still you invited him into the house. My son, I do not like that boy. I believe he is a bad boy. He dresses extravagantly, though in poor taste, for all that his parents are poor. Yet he never does any work to earn money with which to get his clothes, rings, pins and trinkets. He wears his hat tipped far over one ear, loafs around the corners, smokes cigarettes and talks slang. Not only that, but he uses low and profane language. He has a treacherous face and shifty eyes. Now, Don, I think such a boy is a very good person for you to avoid, don’t you?”
Don did not know what to say, and so he remained silent, whereupon his father spoke again:
“I want to speak to you of this matter at this time, my son, because I believe it may in a great measure concern your future welfare. I wish to impress upon you the importance of shunning evil companions, and, at the same time, I will warn you again to guard your temper. I am not going to preach a sermon, but I have decided to tell you a story. I shall make it brief as possible, for it is a painful matter, of which I do not like to think or talk.”
For a single moment the doctor lifted his hand to his bosom, where, within an inner pocket, close to his heart, rested the gold-bound miniature of Don’s mother. The boy knew his father had chosen this time to unbosom himself in regard to an affair that doubtless had cast a shadow over his life.
Despite his curiosity to know the truth of that affair, Don was ill at ease and would have given much to escape for the time the revelation. However, it was necessary for him to sit still and listen, and, with as good grace as possible, he composed himself to do so.
“You, Don,” pursued Dr. Scott, lightly stroking his well-trimmed iron-gray whiskers, “have the same thoughtless, impetuous, passionate disposition that was mine in my youthful days. It did not seem possible for me to control my temper, which led me into doing many things that I afterward regretted; but little did I dream that, in a sudden outburst of anger, I was destined to commit an act that would cause me long years of unspeakable regret and sorrow.