His father had a decanter of port in one hand and a glass in the other; he filled the glass and held it toward Vandover, saying gently:
"I think you had better take some of this: you've hardly eaten anything in three days. Do you feel pretty bad, Van?"
Vandover put the glass down and got upon his feet. All at once a great sob shook him.
"Oh, governor!" he cried.
It was as if it had been a mother or a dear sister. The prodigal son put his arms about his father's neck for the first time since he had been a little boy, and clung to him and wept as though his heart were breaking.
Chapter Eight
"We will begin all over again, Van," his father said later that same day. "We will start in again and try to forget all this, not as much as we can, but as much as we ought, and live it down, and from now on we'll try to do the thing that is right and brave and good."
"Just try me, sir!" cried Vandover.
That was it, begin all over again. He had never seen more clearly than now that other life which it was possible for him to live, a life that was above the level of self-indulgence and animal pleasures, a life that was not made up of the society of lost women or fast girls, but yet a life of keen enjoyment.