So when the two were back in Walter's room, Paul at once began to seek the cause of the boy's trouble.
"What is the matter with you, Walter? You have not been yourself all day."
Walter was very white, and what he said to his father's question was so inaudible that Paul could not understand it.
"What is the matter with you, Walter? Are you sick? Tell me," said his father sharply.
"I can't, father, I can't," Walter stammered and looked so wretched that his father said more gently:
"Don't be afraid of me. Speak out if you are in any trouble. I want to help you. Don't you know that, Walter?"
"Yes, but———"
"Has it any thing to do with money matters? Tell me."
"Yes, I can't! Can't do it, father. I don't mean——"
And then Walter broke down completely. He laid his head down on his arms and cried hysterically. Paul sat looking at him sternly. For the first time that day an inkling of the truth began to dawn on him. At first it did not seem possible to him that his boy could do such a thing. It was so incredible to him at first that he sat silently eyeing the bowed head with an entirely new and bitter feeling.