“Yes, sir.”
“Remember that I am your father and that there is no wisdom in unnecessary privations. You are not called upon to expiate my—my weakness of character. If ever you find yourself suffering actual want—”
Tommy couldn't say what his pride urged. Instead he told his father, “I'll wire for help if I really need it, dad.” Having said what he did not think he would ever do, he made up his mind that he would take money dripping with the blood of slaughtered orphans rather than increase this old man's unhappiness.
“Thank you, my son,” said the old man, very simply.
“A nautomobile is out there waiting,” announced Maggie.
“Tell the man to take the trunk,” Tommy told her. Then to the old man: “Well, dad, it's good-by now. I'll write—often.” He held out his hand.
Mr. Leigh came toward his son. His face was grim but his outstretched hand trembled. “Good-by, my son! Good-by.” He grasped both Tommy's hands in his and gripped them tightly. Then his voice broke and he said, huskily: “My son! My son!”
“Dad!” said Tommy, his eyes full of tears. “Oh, dad! It will be all right! It's all right!”
Mr. Leigh released his son's hands and walked away.
Maggie came in and said, “Good-by, Master Thomas.”