“Dad,” said Tommy, huskily, “I am not blaming you. Nothing that you have done and nothing that you can do can make me forget that I am your son and that you have done it for me—and for my mother.”
“What do you mean?” asked Mr. Leigh, and did not look at his son.
“It's this. Yesterday Mr. Thompson called me in and told me that eighteen hundred shares of Tecumseh stock had been transferred from Kendrick's, Colonel Willetts's confidential clerk, to my name.” Tommy looked at his father to see what effect his words might have. Even at the last moment he hoped to see astonishment.
But Mr. Leigh nodded feverishly and said: “Yes, yes! And then what?”
“Mr. Thompson asked me what it meant, so I said I didn't know. I couldn't explain.”
“So you couldn't! So you couldn't!” as though he blamed the others for expecting it.
“I was afraid to explain,” said Tommy, slowly, “because I assumed it—it was you who did it. Was it, father?”
Tommy tried to speak calmly, in the vain hope that by so doing he would think calmly. But his heart was beating furiously and his very soul within him was in a quiver. And still so strong was hope that Tommy, who had lost hope, hoped his father would deny.
Mr. Leigh said nothing, but stared at Tommy almost blankly.
“Was it, father?”