“Well, sir, I am waiting. Why don’t you answer?”
“I can’t, father.”
“Can’t? I thought my boy always trusted his father, as he trusts his son. There, out with it, Frank. The old saying, my lad. The truth may be blamed, but can never be shamed. What is it—some scrape? There, let’s have it, and get it over. Always come to me, my boy. We are none of us perfect, so let there be no false shame. If you have done wrong, come to me and tell me like a man. If it means punishment, that will not be one hundredth part as painful to you as keeping it back and forfeiting my confidence in my dear wife’s boy.”
“Oh, I would come. I have wanted to come to you about this, but I felt that I could not.”
“Why?”
“Because it would be dishonourable.”
“Perhaps that is only your opinion, Frank. Would it not be better for me to give you my opinion?”
The boy hesitated for a moment. Then quickly:
“I gave my word, father.”
“To whom?”