“Of course, I’m glad you’re back, sonny—of course, I am. I’ve been praying for this ever since you went away. I don’t see how on earth you ever escaped being killed. I—I guess it wasn’t meant for you to die that way. Seems so, at any rate. But what did I tell you about them holding your job for you? What did I tell you? Didn’t I tell you just what would happen? Didn’t I say you’d never get it back? Didn’t I say you were a fool for giving up a seven thousand dollar job to go over and mix up in a war that wasn’t any of our business? Well, you see what’s happened. Just what I said would happen. Here you are, a grown man, out of a job and probably won’t be able to get one in God knows how long. I—”
“Oh, I’m not down and out, you know, dad,” broke in young Oliver, slapping his father on the shoulder. “I’ve got quite a bunch of money in the bank and I’ve got my health and a few million dollars’ worth of brains left. So, cheer up! I’m not worrying. I learned a long time ago how to land on my feet—and that’s the way I’ll land this crack.”
“Course you’re not worrying,” was his father’s sour retort. “You’ve got me to fall back on, with a good home and grub and a darned fine business to drop into when I’m dead and gone. Four-fifths of the fellers who served in the army from this town alone are back here now, loafing and living off of their folks, and kicking like a bay steer because the government won’t do something for them. I hope you ain’t going to be one of that kind, Oliver. I hope to God you ain’t.”
His son could hardly believe his ears. He was bewildered, hurt.
“If you mean, dad, that I am counting on living off of you—of sponging on you—why, put it out of your mind. Nothing like that is going to happen. I did plan to stay a month or two, just for a rest and to be with you for a while—but if you’d rather have me beat it back to Chicago to look for a job, I’ll only hang around a few days.”
“I want you to stay here as long as you like, sonny,” cried old Oliver, melting. “I don’t want you ever to go away again. Maybe I sounded as if I did—but—but, I don’t. I’m getting purty old—seventy-four last month—and I guess I’m not good for much longer. Don’t you get it into your head that I don’t want you to stay here in Rumley. Nothing would suit me better than to turn the business over to you right now and let me retire, but I guess it’s not your idea to go into the retail hardware business.”
“If you need me, dad, I—I will stay,” said Oliver, swallowing hard.
“Oh, I don’t need you yet,” said his father, crusty once more. “I can get along, I guess. I’ve done it for a good many years, and I’m not all in yet, as the feller says. There was a time when I thought of selling out and moving into another state to live, but I’ve given that idea up.”
“Still living in dread of what that darned old fraud said the day I was born, eh? Well, the agony will soon be over. A year and a half more, isn’t it? That will end the tale, and I will live happily forever afterward.”
Sammy Parr was consulting his vest-pocket note book.