"Do—do you mean to tell me you haven't heard what I've been saying to you?" roared the old gentleman, coming to his feet.
"I'm sorry; but, you see, this new undertaking is on my mind all the time. It's a rather serious step I'm taking and I can't help giving it a good deal of thought. Mr. Krosson says he'll raise my salary at the end of—"
But Mr. Van Pycke was standing over him, his face red with anger.
"I brought you up as a gentleman, sir, and this is what comes of it. What would your poor mother say? She, too, expected you to be a gentleman, sir. Your grandfather expected it. All Van Pyckes are gentlemen. You are the first to forget yourself, sir. By Gad, sir, I suppose you'll marry a shop girl or a stenographer. That's what you'll do! After the way in which I've brought you up and educated you and all that. And with the Van Pycke name and traditions at your command! It's so demmed preposterous that I can't express myself adequately. It's—"
"It's no use, dad," said Bosworth, simply. "I'm lost."
"You could marry that little Hebbins girl next week if you—"
"I'm going to marry for love, dad," said his son.
Mr. Van Pycke opened his lips to say something, thought better of it, and stalked majestically out of the room. In the hall he encountered the two porters.
"Is Mr. Bosworth ready for us now, Mr.—" began one of the men, very deferentially, for Mr. Van Pycke was very well known in the club.
"Get out of my way!" roared Mr. Van Pycke.