"Ah! that makes a difference!"
"What would you have done?" he asked anxiously.
"Kept away; not because it was right or politic, but because I inherit my father's pride."
"It's an odd legacy, Sid," remarked the father, mournfully.
"I told him to-night we did not care about his patronage, and could work our way in the world—that at so late an hour, when the worst was over, we would prefer to thank ourselves for the result. I don't say that I was right, father," he added; "but there was a satisfaction in saying so, and in showing that we did not jump at any favour he might think it friendly to concede."
"You're a brave lad," remarked the father, relapsing into thought again; "and perhaps it is as well to show we don't care for him. He talked about my turn next, you say?"
"Yes."
"That means, that he'll never come here again, or make another effort to be friends. Oh! he's as hard as iron when he says a thing, Sid."
"Shall I tell you what I have thought, sir?—it goes against the foolish oath you took, but I think you'll be forgiven for it."
"What have you thought?" he asked with eagerness.