JOHN (coming to him). Charlie, you must give way. Remember me. Can't you see that all these years have been hell upon earth to me? I've been his slave, his dog, and all the time he professed friendship for me, nay, he was my friend. He patted me with one hand, but the dog-whip was in the other. You can't force him to speak now, Charlie. Oh, say you can't.
CHARLIE. But—oh, I don't understand. If you had imagination enough to see all this and to writhe under it, and strength enough to keep your hands off him, couldn't you see there was a way out? Why couldn't you leave him, leave this place, and make a fresh start somewhere else without his cursed money?
JOHN. I might have done that at first. But well—like father like son, Charlie.
CHARLIE. What's that supposed to mean?
JOHN. You've acquiesced. You've gone on hoping for the best. So did I till the cords which held me were bound more closely, till I became a man of substance here, looked up to by my neighbours. They made me sidesman at the Church and then a magistrate. I loved these things, Charlie, the little honours I had won. I clung to them. Your mother died, and as you grew up and drifted from me full of ideas I could not understand, I clung more closely to the little things life held for me. Its all I have, Charlie. Don't take that away from me Charlie. Why shouldn't people know it? There's no disgrace in having your business financed by another man.
JOHN. Well, if you must know, there's another reason.
CHARLIE (suddenly alarmed). It's a paying concern, isn't it?
JOHN. Yes, but I can't prove it.
CHARLIE. Why not?
JOHN. I've no figures to show. Any one I approached would want to see accounts—audited accounts.