“I must confess that I went to that bank in bitterness of spirit against my poor daddy. But I felt sure that the trifle he had deposited to my credit, would be but the traditional dollar with which prodigal sons are often cut off. I meant to bore a hole in it, and wear it round my neck.
“I had no sooner made myself known than the manager, to my great surprise, shook me by the hand.
“‘Come into my room,’ he said. ‘Your father has sent me your photograph, so that there is no need for identification. And the cheque is a handsome one.’
“‘I hope, sir,’ I said, ‘you will not tantalize me. I expect nothing from my father except one dollar.’
“‘The cash standing to your credit,’ he said, ‘is two millions sterling.’
“I answered scarcely a word. I was too dazed to speak. This, then, was the dollar with which my father had cut me off.
“I arose from my chair, and, hardly taking time to shake hands with this business-like banker, I walked straight out, and away home to my dingy, dismal lodgings.
“I wanted to think, and to be alone.
“‘My poor father!’ These were the first words I said to myself. And at this moment I would have given a good deal to be sitting once more in our old-fashioned parlour, with mother and sister near me, and my father studying the markets as he sat in his chair.
“But evil thoughts began to take the place of good, and my pride warred against my better feelings.