“I have prospered since the war begun,” said he. “I have had two profitable government contracts, and have established a business house in this city. Mr. Walker, who is now my partner, has charge of it. I will step around and see him about it, and perhaps we can make some satisfactory arrangements, if you will promise to keep out of the service.”
“But, father,” said Guy, “do you live here in this city?”
“No; I have charge of our business in Norwall. I go back there by this evening’s train. What do you say?”
“I shall be grateful for any work that will bring me my board and clothes, and will promise to keep out of the service,” said Guy.
“Suppose you come around here and take dinner with me at three o’clock. I shall then be able to tell you what arrangements Mr. Walker and myself have made.”
“Very well, sir,” said Guy.
Mr. Harris arose to his feet, and Guy taking this as a hint that he wished the interview brought to a close, picked up his hat and left the room.
“Thank goodness, it is over at last,” said he, drawing a long breath of relief. “I didn’t say half I meant to have said, and I am glad I didn’t, for I could see that he felt badly. I didn’t want to hurt his feelings, but at the same time I wanted to let him see how impossible it is for me to go back to Norwall with him. I shall always remember that interview, for it is an event in my life. It is the first time I ever spent half an hour in private with my father without getting a scolding or a whipping. He was distant enough, mercy knows, but still he was kinder and more cordial than I ever knew him to be before. Why didn’t he exhibit a little of that spirit years ago? I would have done anything for him that I could do.”
“I never in my life heard of such impudence,” soliloquized Mr. Harris, as he paced up and down his room after Guy’s departure. “It was all I could do to keep my hands off that boy. He had the audacity to tell me to my face that I and his mother are the cause of his wrong-doing—that we made his home so unpleasant for him that he couldn’t stay there. If that is the case what is the reason Ned doesn’t run away? Guy must be demented. That bosh he used to read so much has turned his head.”
How very unwilling we are to confess ourselves in fault for any unhappiness that befall us—it is so much easier to lay the blame upon somebody else. Said a father in my hearing, not long ago, while speaking of a reckless, dissolute son who had caused him a world of trouble: