“Go with your father, Ray.” It was Johnson’s urgent advice, and his hand lay for a second on the boy’s shoulder.
Ray shook him off.
“I’ll stay here,” he said, and his voice was loud and defiant. “I’m not a baby, that I can’t be trusted out alone. You’ve no right to come here, making me look a fool.” He glowered at his father. “You’ve kept me down all these years, denied me money that I ought to have had—and who are you that you should pretend to be shocked because I’m in a decent club, wearing decent clothes? I’m straight: can you say the same? If I wasn’t straight, could you blame me? You’re not going to put any of that kind father stuff over——”
“Come away.” John Bennett’s voice was hoarse.
“I’m staying here,” said Ray violently. “And in future you can leave me alone. The break had to come some time, and it might as well come now.”
They stood facing one another, father and son, and in the tired eyes of John Bennett was a look of infinite sadness.
“You’re a silly boy, Ray. Perhaps I haven’t done all I could——”
“Perhaps!” sneered the other. “Why, you know it! You get out!”
And then, as he turned his head, he saw the suppressed smiles on the face of the audience, and the hurt to his vanity drove him mad.
“Come,” said John gently, and laid his hand on the boy’s arm.